THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 
LEIGH     HUNT 


Sv  vermissicn  cf  M'  WXa^h  ffunt 


THE     AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

WITH   REMINISCENCES    OF    FRIENDS  AND 

CONTEMPORARIES,  AND  WITH   THORNTON 

HUNT'S  INTRODUCTION   AND  POSTSCRIPT 

NEWLY   EDITED    BY 

ROGER     INGPEN 

Illustrated  with  Portraits 
IN   TWO   VOLUMES 


VOL    I 


NEW    YORK 
E.    P.    BUTTON    &    CO 

3  I    WEST    23RD    STREET 
1903 


(^ 


"  Most  men,  when  drawn  to  speak  about  themselves, 
Are  moved  by  little  and  little  to  say  more 
Than  they  dreamt  :  until  at  last  they  blush, 
And  can  but  hope  to  find  secret  excuse 
In  the  self-knowledge  of  their  auditors." 

Walter  Scott's  Old  Play 


TO 

WALTER  LEIGH   HUNT 

THE  ELDEST  SON  OF  LEIGH  HUNT'S 

ELDEST  SON   IS   INSCRIBED 

THIS  NEW  EDITION 

OF   HIS    GRANDFATHER'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


March   1903 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE 

IN  the  summer  of  1825  Leigh  Hunt  had  been  for 
three  years  a  sojourner  in  Italy,  whither  he  had 
gone  at  the  invitation  of  Lord  Byron  and  Shelley  to 
edit  that  ill-fated  magazine  the  Liberal.  During  these 
three  years  a  series  of  disastrous  events  had  occurred, 
all  more  or  less  bearing  directly  on  Hunt's  life,  and 
all  described  at  considerable  length  and  with  much 
circumstantial  detail  in  the  following  pages.  The 
death  of  Shelley,  the  failure  after  four  numbers  of 
the  Liberal,  the  unfriendly  attitude  taken  up  by  Lord 
Byron,  and  his  subsequent  death,  were  sufficient  in 
themselves  to  make  it  highly  desirable  for  Hunt  to 
return  to  England.  Italy  however  had  a  great  attrac- 
tion for  him,  and  he  lingered  on  at  Florence  for  fully 
three  months,  until  September,  1825,  when  his  return 
home  became  imperative,  owing  to  the  action  of  his 
brother  John,  who  contended  that  Leigh  Hunt,  by  his 
protracted  absence,  had  forfeited  his  proprietary  rights 
in  the  Exaininer. 

One  of  the  immediate  obstacles  to  his  return  was  that 
he  was,  nominally  at  any  rate,  without  resources.  The 
expenses  of  a  journey  to  England  were  at  that  time  con- 
siderable, and  this  prodigal  son  of  letters  had  no  means 
whatever  wherewith  to  defray  them.  It  was  in  these 
circumstances  that  Hunt's  old  friend  and  admirer, 
Vincent  Novello,  made  an  arrangement  with  Henry 
Colburn,  the  publisher,  for  the  advance  of  a  sum  of 
money  on  account  of  a  book.  The  book  thus  arranged 
for  was  originally  to  have  consisted  of  a  collection  of 
the  author's  scattered  writings,  with  an  autobiographi- 
cal introduction.  Hunt  arrived  in  England  in  October, 
1825,  but  no  new  book  appeared  bearing  his  name 
until  1828,  when  a  large  quarto  volume  was  published 
with  the  title  of  Lo7'd  Byi'on  and  sorne  of  his  Contem- 
poraries ;  ivith  Recollections  of  the  Authors  Life  and  of 
his  Visit  to  Italy.  The  book  created  a  sensation  ;  it  was 
in  every  one's  hands,  and  it  rapidly  went  into  a  second 

vii 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE 

edition.  Tho  author,  however,  was  roundly  abused  on  all 
sides  for  his  outspoken  criticism  of  Lord  Byron,  who 
was  at  the  time  by  way  of  being  a  popular  hero. 
Those  who  had  formerly  fatigued  themselves  in  their 
elYorts  to  vilify  the  character  of  Byron,  now  eagerly 
turned  their  wrath  against  Leigh  Hunt.  The  experi- 
ment Wiis  an  unhappy  one,  for  instead  of  justifying 
himself  to  the  public,  as  he  had  hoped,  by  a  frank 
explanation  of  his  relations  with  Byron,  Hunt  only 
earned  for  himself  the  title  of  ingrate. 

This  book,  the  cause  of  so  much  unhappines  to  Hunt 
at  the  time  of  its  publication,  afterwards  became  the 
basis  of  his  Autobiography,  which  is  perhaps  the  best 
known  of  his  works,  and  the  one  that  is  likely  to 
survive  the  longest.  "  Had  Lord  Byron  and  his  Con- 
temporaries never  been  written,"  says  Mr.  Brimley 
Johnson,  "  we  should  have  lost,  what  some  of  us  at 
least  would  be  very  unwilling  to  spare,  a  most  intimate 
and  life-like  contemporary  impression  of  the  author  of 
Don  Juan  ;  while  a  number  of  charges  against  Leigh 
Hunt  would  have  remained  unanswered,  and,  perhaps 
unanswerable.  No  one  else  was  both  able  and  willing 
to  conduct  his  defence,  and  he  was  thus  driven  to  act 
as  his  own  counsel."  The  account  of  the  author's  life, 
and  early  recollections,  his  reminiscences  of  Shelley, 
Lamb  and  Keats  were  all  included  in  these  expanded 
Recollections  as  well  as  the  description  of  the  voyage 
to  Italy. 

The  Autobiography  was  written  at  32,  Edwardes 
Square,  Kensington,  probably  during  the  year  1849,  and 
the  early  months  of  1850.  A  writer  in  the  Bookman^ 
\iov  April,  189.3,  recalls  a  pleasant  visit  to  Leigh  Hunt 
jat  Edwardes  Square  some  years  earlier.  "I  had  ex- 
jpected,"  he  says,  "  to  find  him  all  briskness  and  vivacity. 
;0n  the  contrary,  as  he  sat  and  talked  among  his  books, 
'.busts  and  engravings,  tall,  dark  complexioned,  with  a 
thoughtful  brow  and  expressive  hazel  eyes,  his  greyish 
black  hair  flowing  down  to  his  shoulders,  he  gave  you 
the  impression  of  courteous  dignity  and  repose.  In  a 
grave  sweet  voice,  he  spoke  frankly,  but  always  kindly, 

*  The  writer  signs  <i>  (^,  F,  E[espinasse]). 
viii 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE 

of  the  notable  men  with  whom  he  had  been  intimate, 
and  of  whom,  a  junior  as  I  was,  might  wish  to  hear : 
Shelley  and  Keats,  Hazlitt  and  Charles  Lamb.  .  .  .  He 
liked  his  domicile  and  its  surroundings.  Edwarde^ 
Square,  with  its  pretty  houses,  large  enclosure,  gardens! 
behind,  and  spacious  grass-plots  in  front,  had  been  '  in- 
vented,' as  he  phrased  it,  by  a  Frenchman,  and  Hunt  has 
recorded  his  inability  when  first  he  saw  it  to  reconcile  it 
with  '  English  principles  '  of  house-building  and  street 
construction.  It  was  quite  a  rus  in  urbe,  just  suited  fot 
a  poet  who,  while  delighting  in  trees  and  flowers  and 
verdure,  loved  also  to  hear  the  busy  hum  of  men.  By 
a  visitor,  who  like  myself  knew  nothing  of  his  financial 
difficulties,  which  then,  as  almost  always,  embarrassed 
him,  but  which  never  disturbed  his  outward  serenity, 
Leigh  Hunt  might  have  been  pronounced  a  happy  man. 
After  an  absence  of  a  year  or  two  from  London,  I  revisi- 
ted Leigh  Hunt  at  Edwardes  Square  and  found  him  in  ex- 
cellent spirits.  His  delightful  Autobiography  was  being 
received  with  a  chorus  of  approval,  which  gladdened  the 
veteran's  heart,  and  brought  him  again  very  promi- 
nently into  notice." 

The  first  edition  of  the  Autobiography  appeared  on 
June  8,  1850,  in  three  volumes.  The  book  was  warmly 
received  by  the  author's  numerous  friends,  but  its 
critics  in  the  press  were  the  reverse  of  cordial.  Both 
the  Athenceum  and  the  Spectator  gave  it  long  reviews, 
but  little  praise,  and  enlarged  on  its  diffuseness.  The 
edition  gradually  sold,  however,  until  at  the  end  of  nine 
years  there  was  a  call  for  a  fresh  edition,  and  Leigh 
Hunt  spent  what  were  actually  his  last  days  in  revising 
and  compressing  the  whole  work,  and  adding  a  final 
chapter  to  complete  the  story  of  his  life.  It  so  happened 
that  there  was  very  little  for  others  to  add,  for  his  death 
took  place  shortly  afterwards,  in  August,  1859.  The 
new  edition  was  finally  prepared  for  the  press  by  his 
eldest  son  Thornton,  and  issued  in  the  following  De- 
cember. Those  papers  that  had  but  faintly  praised 
the  first  edition  were  quick  to  acknowledge  merits  of 
the  later  version.  For  instance  the  Spectator  [Sep.  18, 
1860]   said    that  "  in    its   amended   form,  the   book  is 

ix  h 


EDITOR'S    PREFACE 

one  of  the  most  graceful,  racy  iind  genial  chronicles 
of  the  incidents  and  influences  of  a  human  life  in  the 
English  language.  The  sweetness  of  temper,  the  in- 
domitahle  love  and  forgiveness,  the  pious  hilarity,  and 
the  faith  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  good,  revealed  in 
its  pages  show  the  humane  and  noble  qualities  of  the 
^-riter." 

And  the  Athencvum  [July  4,  1860]  spoke  of  it  "now  as 
perfect  a  book  as  care  and  love  can  make  it.  This  pic- 
ture of  a  father  painted  by  a  son,  in  Mr.  Thornton 
Hunt's  Introduction  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
tender  things  in  Literature." 

The  present  volumes,  which  are  a  reprint  of  the  latest 
revised  edition,  contain  reproductions  of  the  portraits 
of  the  author  (by  Hayter),  and  of  Lamb  and  Keats,  which 
originally  appeared  in  Lord  Byron  and  his  Conteinpor- 
aries.^ 

The  Editor  desires  primarily  to  thank  Mr.  Thomas 
Seccombe,  who  originated  the  idea  of  this  reprint,  for 
his  ready  help  and  kind  encouragement  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  book  for  the  press.  He  also  acknowledges 
the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Walter  Leigh  Hunt,  who  not  only 
kindly  supplied  him  with  much  information  regarding 
his  grandfather  and  his  family,  but  also  allowed  his 
portrait  of  Leigh  Hunt  by  Samuel  Laurence  to  be  repro- 
duced for  the  present  reprint  of  the  Autobiography. 
Thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell,  for  assistance  in 
proof  reading,  and  for  many  useful  suggestions ;  also  to 
Mr.  R.  Brimley  Johnson  for  permission  to  make  a  liberal 
use  of  his  valuable  contributions  to  the  study  of  the 
autobiographer. 

March,  1903.  ^^^^^  ^^^^^^- 

*^*  The  footnotes  not  enclosed  by  brackets  are  the 
author's,  those  enclosed  by  brackets  with  the  signature 
T.  H.  are  by  Thornton  Hunt,  and  those  within  brackets, 
with  no  signature,  are  the  present  editor's. 

'  In  the  appendix  will  be  found""  some  additional  material  illus- 
trating the  Autobiography,  including  Leigh  Hunt's  "attempt  to 
estimate  his  own  character,"  an  autobiographic  fragment,  intended 
for  use  in  his  book  on  Lord  Byron,  which  was  discovered  some  ten 
years  ago  in  the  Forster  Collection  by  the  late  jMt.  Dykes  Campbell. 

X 


TESTIMONIA 

I  HAVE  just  finished  your  Autobiography,  which  has  been 
most  pleasantly  occupying  my  leisure  these  three  days.  .  .  . 
Well,  I  call  this  an  excellent  good  book,  by  far  the  best  of  the 
autobiographic  kind  I  remember  to  have  read  in  the  English 
language ;  and  indeed,  except  it  be  Boswell's  of  Johnson,  I  do  not 
know  where  we  have  such  a  picture  drawn  of  a  human  life  as  in 
these  three  volumes.  A  pious,  ingenious,  altogether  human  and 
worthy  book ;  imaging,  with  graceful  honest  and  free  felicity,  many 
interesting  objects  and  persons  on  your  life-path,  and  imaging  ' 
throughout,  what  is  best  of  all,  a  gifted,  gentle,  patient,  and  valiant 
human  soul,  as  it  buffets  its  way  through  the  billows  of  time,  and 
will  not  drown  though  often  in  danger ;  cannot  he  drowned,  but 
conquers  and  leaves  a  track  of  radiance  behind  it  ...  .  In  fact, 
this  book  has  been  like  a  written  exercise  of  devotion  to  me ;  I  have 
not  assisted  at  any  sermon,  liturgy  or  litany,  this  long  while,  that 
has  had  so  religious  an  affect  on  me.  Thanks  in  the  name  of  all 
men.  And  believe,  along  with  me,  that  this  book  will  be  welcome 
to  other  generations  as  well  as  to  ours. 

Thomas  Carlyle,  1850. 

Hunt  is  an  extraordinary  character,  and  not  exactly  of  the  pre- 
sent age.  He  reminds  me  more  of  the  Pym  and  Hampden  times — 
much  talent,  great  independence  of  spirit,  and  an  austere,  yet  not 
repulsive,  aspect.  If  he  goes  on  qualis  ab  incepto,  I  know  few  men 
who  will  deserve  more  praise,  or  obtain  it.  I  must  go  and  see  him 
again — the  rapid  succession  of  adventure  since  last  summer,  added 
to  some  serious  uneasiness  and  business,  have  interrupted  our  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  he  is  a  man  worth  knowing. 

Lord  Byron,  1813. 
To  Leigh  Hunt,  Esq. 
Glory  and  Loveliness  have  pass'd  away ; 
For  if  we  wander  out  in  early  morn. 
No  wreathed  incense  do  we  see  upbourne 
Into  the  east  to  meet  the  smiling  day : 
No  crowd  of  nymphs  soft-voiced  and  young  and  gay, 
In  woven  baskets  bringing  ears  of  corn, 
Roses  and  pinks,  and  violets  to  adorn 
The  shrine  of  Flora  in  her  early  May. 
But  there  are  left  delights  as  high  as  these 

And  I  shall  ever  bless  my  destiny. 
That  in  a  time  when  under  pleasant  trees 
Pan  is  no  longer  sought,  I  feel  a  free, 
A  leafy  luxury,  seeing  I  could  please 

With  these  poor  offerings,  a  man  like  thee. 
Dedication  to  his  Poems,  1817. 

John  Kkats. 
xi 


TESTIMONIA 

Had  I  known  a  person  more  highly  endowed  than  yourself  with 
all  that  it  l>ocomes  a  man  to  possess,  I  had  solicited  for  this  work 
the  ornament  of  his  name.  One  more  gentle,  honourable,  innocent 
and  brave  ;  one  of  more  exalted  toleration  for  all  who  do  and  think 
evil,  and  yet  himself  more  free  fi'om  evil ;  one  who  knows  better 
how  to  receive,  and  how  to  confer  a  benefit,  though  he  must  ever 
confer  far  more  than  he  can  receive ;  one  of  simpler,  and,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  word,  of  purer  life  and  manners  I  never  knew  ; 
and  I  hiid  already  been  fortunate  in  friendships  when  your  name 
was  added  to  the  list. 

From  the  Dedication  of  The  Cenci,  1819. 

Percy  B.  Shelley. 

.  .  .  Hunt ;  one  of  those  happy  souls 
WTiich  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and  without  whom 
This  world  would  smell  like  what  it  is — a  tomb  ! 
Who  is  what  others  seem  ;  his  room  no  doubt 
Is  still  adorn'd  by  many  a  cast  from  Shout, 
With  graceful  flowers,  tastefully  placed  about  ; 
And  coronals  of  bay  from  riband  hung, 
And  brighter  wreaths  in  neat  disorder  flung, 
The  gifts  of  the  most  learn'd  among  some  dozens 
Of  female  friends,  sisters-in-law,  and  cousins. 
And  there  is  he  with  his  eternal  puns. 
Which  beat  the  dullest  brain  for  smiles,  like  duns 
Thundering  for  money  at  a  poet's  door ; 
Alas  !   it  is  no  use  to-day,    "  I'm  poor  !  " 
Or  oft  in  graver  mood,  when  he  will  look 
Things  wiser  than  were  ever  said  in  book. 
Except  in  Shakespeare's  wisest  tenderness. 
From  the  Letter  to  Mai'ia  G-isborne,  1820. 

Percy  B.  Shelley. 

to  my  friend  the  indicator. 
Your  easy  Essays  indicate  a  pleasant  flow, 
Dear  Friend,  of  brain,  ■which  we  may  elsewhere  seek ; 
And  to  their  pages  I,  and  hundreds,  owe, 
That  Wednesday  is  the  sweetest  of  the  week. 
Such  observation,  wit,  and  sense,  are  shown. 
We  think  the  days  of  Bickerstaffe  returned ; 
And  that  a  portion  of  that  oil  you  own, 
In  his  undying  midnight  lamp  which  burned. 
I  would  not  lightly  bruise  old  Priscian's  head. 
Or  wrong  the  rules  of  grammar  understood ; 
But,  with  the  leave  of  Priscian  be  it  said, 
The  Indicative  is  your  Potential  Mood. 
Wit,  poet,  prose-man,  party-man,  translator — 
Hunt,  your  best  title  yet  is  Indicator. 

Charles  Lams,  1820. 
xii 


TESTIMONIA 

I  look  upon  the  author  of  Rimini  as  a  man  of  taste  and  a  poet. 
He  is  better  than  so ;  he  is  one  of  the  most  cordial-minded  men  I 
ever  knew — a  matchless  fireside  companion.  I  mean  not  to  affront 
or  wound  your  feelings  when  I  say,  that  in  his  more  genial  moods 
he  has  often  reminded  me  of  you.  There  is  the  same  air  of  mild 
dogmatism — the  same  condescending  to  boyish  sportiveness  in  both 
your  conversations. 

Charles  Lamb  to  Sotjthey,  1823. 

He  is  the  only  poet  or  literary  man  we  ever  knew  who  puts  us 
in  mind  of  Sir  John  Suckling,  or  Killigrew,  or  Oarew  ;  or  who 
united  rare  intellectual  acquirements  with  outward  grace  and 
natural  gentility. 

William  Hazlitt  on  Leigh  Hunt,  1825. 

We  have  a  kindness  for  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt.  We  form  our  judgment 
of  him,  indeed,  only  from  events  of  universal  notoriety,  from  his 
own  works,  and  from  the  works  of  other  writers,  who  have  gener- 
ally abused  him  in  the  most  rancorous  manner.  But,  unless  we  are 
greatly  mistaken,  he  is  a  very  clever,  a  very  honest,  and  a  very 
good-hearted  man.  We  can  clearly  discern,  together  with  many 
merits,  many  faults  both  in  his  writings  and  in  his  conduct.  But 
we  I'eally  think  that  there  is  hardly  a  man  living  whose  merits  have 
been  so  grudgingly  allowed,  and  whose  faults  have  been  so  cruelly 
expiated. 

Lord  Macaulay,  1841. 

A  beautiful  and  venerable  old  man,  buttoned  to  the  chin  in  a, 
black  dress-coat,  tall  and  slender,  with  a  countenance  quietly  alive ; 
all  over,  and  the  gentlest  and  most  naturally  courteous  manner. 
.  .  .  I  have  said  that  he  was  a  beautiful  old  man.  In  truth,  I  never 
saw  a  finer  countenance,  either  as  to  the  mould  of  features  or  the  ex- 
pression, nor  any  that  showed  the  play  of  feeling  so  perfectly  with- 
out the  slightest  theatrical  emphasis.  It  was  like  a  child's  face  in 
this  respect.  .  .  .  But  when  he  began  to  speak,  and  as  he  grew  more 
earnest  in  conversation,  I  ceased  to  be  sensible  of  his  age  ;  some- 
times, indeed,  its  dusky  shadow  darkened  through  the  gleam  which 
his  sprightly  thoughts  diffused  about  his  face,  but  then  another  flash 
of  youth  came  out  of  his  eyes  and  made  an  illumination  again.  I 
never  witnessed  such  a  wonderfully  illvisive  transformation,  before 
or  since  ;  and,  to  this  day,  trusting  only  to  my  recollection,  I  should 
find  it  difficult  to  decide  which  was  his  genuine  and  stable  predica- 
ment— youth  or  age.  .  .  .  His  eyes  were  dark  and  very  fine,  and  his 
delightful  voice  accompanied  their  visible  language  like  music.  .  .  . 
I  felt  that  no  effect  upon  my  mind  of  what  he  uttered,  no  emotion, 
however  transitory,  in  myself  escaped  his  notice. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne's  Our  Old  Home. 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   author's   progenitors 

PAGE 

Fetching  a  man's  mind  from  the  cradle — Transmission  of 
family  faces  and  qualities — Childhood  a  favourite  theme  in 
after-life — The  Author's  ancestors  and  father — Perils  of  the 
latter  during  the  American  Revolution— Compliment  paid 
him  by  the  father  of  Sheridan— His  answer  to  a  Bishop,  and 
general  character  and  career — Becomes  tutor  to  the  nephew 
of  the  Duke  of  Chandos— Accidental  death  of  that  noble- 
man, and  affecting  end  of  his  Duchess — Misfortunes  in  the 
Author's  family — His  mother  and  her  connexions — Her 
behaviour  diu-ing  her  voyage  to  England  ;  admirable  con- 
duct on  various  other  occasions ;  and  love  of  the  sunset 
during  her  decline 1 

CHAPTER  II 

CHILDHOOD 

[1784-1792.] 
The  Leigh  family — Preposterous  charge  against  it — Beautiful 
character  in  Fielding  applied  to  Mr.  Leigh  by  his  son — 
Author's  birthplace,  Southgate — Dr.  Trinder,  clergyman 
and  physician — Calais  and  infant  heresy — Porpoises  and 
Dolphins — A  despotic  brother — Supernatural  fears  in  child- 
hood— Anecdote  of  an  oath — Martial  toys — Infant  church- 
militant — Manners  and  customs  of  the  time — Music  and 
poetry — Memories  of  songs — Authors  in  vogue — Pitt  and 
Fox — Lords  and  Commons 30 

CHAPTER  III 

SCHOOL-DAYS 

[1791-1799] 
Children's  books — Hogarth — Christ  Hospital— Moral  and  per- 
sonal courage — Anecdote  of  a  racket-ball — Fagging — Visits 
of  Queen  Victoria  to  the  school — Details  respecting  that 
foundation,  its  manners  and  customs,  modes  of  training, 

XV 


CONTENTS 

J'AGE 

distinpuisheil  scholiirs,  preachers  and  schoolmasters,  etc. — 
Coleridge  and  Lamb— "Mr.  Guy"— Tooke's  Pantheon  and 
the  British  poets — Scalded  legs  and  the  luxuries  of  a  sick 
ward 54 

CHAPTER    IV 
SCHOOL-DAYS  {contintied) 
[1791-1799] 
Healthy  literary  training  of  Christ  Hospital— Early  friendship- 
Early  love — St.  James's  Park,   music  and  war — President 
West  and  his  house— The  Thornton  family  and  theirs — The 
Dayrells  and  first  love — Early  thoughts  of  religion — Jews 
and  their  synagogues — Coleridge  and  Lamb — A  mysterious 
schoolfellow — The  greater  mystery  of  the  Fazzer— Mitchell 
and  Barnes — Boatings,  bathings,  and  Lady  Craven— De- 
parture from  school  92 

CHAPTER  V 

YOUTH 

[1799-1802] 
Juvenile  verses — Visits  to  Cambridge  and  Oxford — Danger  of 
drowning — Bobart,  the  Oxford  coachman — Spirit  of  Uni- 
versity training — Dr.  Raine,  of  the  Charterhouse — A 
juvenile  beard — America  and  Dr.  Franklin — Maurice, 
author  of  Indian  antiquities — Welsh  bards — A  religious 
hoy — Doctrine  of  self-preservation — A  walk  frem  Ramsgate 
to  Brighton— Character  of  a  liver  at  inns — A  devout 
landlord — Inhospitality  to  the  benighted — Answers  of 
rustics  to  wayfarers — Pedestrian  exploits — Dangers  of 
delay — The  club  of  elders 119 

CHAPTER  VI 

PLAYGOIXG  AND  VOLUNTEERS 

[1802-1872] 
Threatened  invasion  by  the  French — The  St.  James's  volun- 
teers—Singular debut  of  their  Colonel — Satire  of  Foote — A 
taste  of  campaigning — Recollections  of  the  stage  at  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century — Farley,  De  Camp,  Miss 
De  Camp,  Emery,  Kelly  and  Mrs.  Crouch,  Catalani,  Mrs. 
Billington,  Madame  Grassini,  Braham,  Pasta  and  Lablache, 
female  singers  in  general ;  Ambrogetti,  Vestris  the  dancer, 
Parisot ;  singing  and  dancing  in  former  times  and  present, 
Jack  Bannister,  Fawcett,  Munden,  EUiston,  Mathews, 
Dowton,  Cooke,  the  Kembles  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  Mrs. 
Jordan — Playgoing    in    youth — Critical    playgoing — Play- 

xvi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

going  in  general  not  what  it  was — Social  position  of  actors 
in  those  times — John  Kemble  and  a  noble  lord  at  a  book 
sale — Earl  Spencer 131 

CHAPTER  VII 

ESSAYS   IN  CRITICISM 

[1804-1808] 
Acquaintance  with  the  British  classics,  and  contribution  of  a 
series  of  articles  to  an  evening  paper — Oolman  and  Bonnell 
Thornton — Goldsmith  again — Reading  of  novels — Objection 
to  history — Voltaire — Youthful  theology — The  News — 
"Critical  Essays  on  the  Performers  of  the  London 
Theatres  " — John  Kemble  and  his  whims  of  pronunciation.     154 

CHAPTER  VIII 

SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 
[1805-1807] 

Nervous  illness  and  conclusions  therefrom — Mystery  of  the 
universe — Hypochondriacal  recreations — A  hundred  and 
fifty  rhymes  on  a  trisyllable — Pastoral  innocence — A  di- 
dactic yeoman — "  Hideous  sight"  of  Dr.  Young — Action  the 
cure  for  sedentary  ailments — Boating ;  a  fray  on  the 
Thames;  magical  effect  of  the  word  "law" — Retui-n  of 
health  and  enjoyment 180 

CHAPTER  IX 

THE     "  EXAMINER  " 

[1808] 

Establishment  of  the  Examiner — Albany  Fonblanque — 
Author's  mistake  in  setting  out  on  his  editorial  career — 
Objects  of  the  Examiyier,  and  misrepresentations  of  them 
by  the  Tories — Jeu  d' esprit  of  "  Napoleon  in  his  Cabinet  " — 
* '  Breakfast  sympathies  with  the  miseries  of  war "  — War 
dispassionately  considered — Anti-Republicanism  of  the 
Examiner,  and  its  views  in  theology — The  author  for  some 
time  a  clerk  in  the  War  Office — His  patron,  Mr.  Addington, 
afterwards  Lord  Sidmouth — Poetry  and  accounts        .        .     192 

CHAPTER  X 

LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

[1809] 

Du  Bois — Campbell — Theodore  Hooke — Mathews — James  and 

Horace    Smith — Fuseli — Bonnycastle — Kinnaird,    etc.        .    200 

xvii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI 

POLITICAL  CHAKACTKKS 

[1808-1812] 

Ministry  of  the  Pittitos— Time-serving  conduct  of  the  allies — 
Height  anil  downfall  of  Napoleon — Character  of  George  the 
Third — JMistakes  and  sincerity  of  the  Examiner — Indict- 
ment against  it  respecting  the  case  of  Major  Hogan — 
Affair  of  Mrs.  Clarke — Indictment  respetting  the  reign  of 
George  the  Thu"d — PeiTy,  proprietor  of  the  Morning 
Chron'wU — Charactersj  of  L(n'd  Canning,  Liverpool,  and  Lord 
Castlereagh — "Whigs  and  Whig-Radicals — Queen  Victoria — 
Royalty  and  Repulilics — Indictment  respecting  military 
flogging — The  Attorney-General,  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs       .        .     218 


CHAPTER  XII 

LITEBART  WARFARE 

[1810] 

The  Reflector  and  the  winters  in  it — Feast  of  the  Poets — Its 
attack  on  Gilford  for  his  attacks  on  Mrs.  Robinson — Char- 
acter of  Giflford  and  his  writings — Specimens  of  the  Baviad 
and  Ma;viad — His  appearance  at  the  Roxburgh  sale  of 
books — Attack  on  Walter  Scott,  occasioned  by  a  passage 
in  his  edition  of  Dryden — Tory  calumny — Quarrels  and 
recriminations  of  authors — The  writer's  present  opinion  of 
Sir  Walter — General  offence  caused  by  the  Feast  of  tJie 
Poets — Its  inconsiderate  treatment  of  Hayley — Dinner  of 
the  Prince  Regent: — Holland  House  and  Lord  Holland — 
Neutralization  of  Whig  advocacy — Recollections  of  Blanco 
White  .        , 238 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  REGENT  AND  THE    "EXAMINER" 

[1812] 

"The  Prince  on  St.  Patrick's  Day" — Indictment  for  an  attack 
on  the  Regent  in  that  article — Present  feelings  of  the  writer 
on  the  subject: — Real  sting  of  the  offence  in  the  article — 
Sentence  of  the  proprietors  of  the  Examiner  to  an  im- 
prisonment for  two  years — Their  rejection  of  two  proposals 
of  compromise — Lord  Ellenborough,  Mr.  Garrow,  and  Mr. 
Justice  Grose 254 

xviii 


LIST   OF  PORTRAITS 


Vol,  I 


Leigh  Hunt 
Leigh  Hunt 
Charles  Lamb 
Leigh  Hunt 
Leigh  Hunt 
P.  B.  Shelley 


Samuel  Lawrence.    Frontispiece 
B.  Botvyer.  To  face  p.    80 

H.  Meyer.  „        „      112 

J.  Severn.  ,,        ,,      150 

J.  Hayter.  „        „      192 

Amelia  Curran.       „        „      210 


XIX 


i 


CHRONOLOGY 

The  titles  of  Leigh  Hunt's  books  are  in  italics,  contemporary  eyents  iih 
square  brackets. 
aet. 

[Chatterton  died.     Wordsworth  born.] 

[Gray  died.    Sir  Walter  Scott  born.] 

[Coleridge  born.] 

[Charles  Valentine  Le  Grice  born.] 

[Goldsmith  died.     South ey  born.] 

[John  Hunt  born.     Charles  Lamb  born.    Lander  bom.Ii 

[Thomas  Campbell  born.] 

[Hazlitt  born.] 

[T.  Moore  born.] 

Leigh  Hunt  born  at  Southgate,  Middlesex,  October  19. 

[Lord  Palmerston  born.     Dr.  Johnson  died.] 
[Marianne  Kent  (afterwards  Mrs.  Leigh  Hunt)    born.. 

Byron  born.] 
Entered  Christ  Hospital. 
[Shelley  born.] 
[Carlyle  born.] 
[Burns  died.     Keats  born.] 

[Mary  W,  Shelley,  n^e  Godwin,  born.    Burke  died.] 
Left  Christ  Hospital.     [Hood  born.] 
[Cowper  died.     Macaulay  born.] 
Juvenilia.     Portrait  by  R.  Bowyer.      Contributed  to 

"European     Magazine,"     "Juvenile    Library"    and 

"  Monthly  Preceptor." 

1804  20    Contributed  to  "  The  Traveller  "  under  the  signature  of 

"Mr.  Town."     [Benjamin  Disraeli  born.] 

1805  21    Contributed  to  the  "News." 

1806-722-23  Classic  Tales,  5  vols.,  edited.     [Pitt  and  Fox  died,  1806.] 

1807  23     Critical  Essays  on  the  Perforiners  of  the  London  Theatres. 

Clerk  to  his  brother  Stephen,  an  attorney.  Afterwards 
clerk  in  the  War  Office. 

1808  24    Examiner,  edited  till  1821 :  John  Hunt,  publisher. 

1809  25    Married  Marianne  Kent.    Lived  at  Beckenham,  Kent,  till 

1811.  [Rev.  Isaac  Hunt  died,  set.  57.]  An  Attempt  to 
shoiv  the  Folly  and  Danger  of  Methodism.  [A.  Ten- 
nyson born.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  born.^ 
W.  E.  Gladstone  born.     0.  Darwin  born.] 

xxi 


1770 

1771 

1772 

1773 

1774 

1775 

1777 

1778 

1779 

1784 

1788 

4 

1791 

7 

1792 

8 

1795 

11 

1796 

12 

1797 

13 

1799 

15 

1800 

16 

1801 

17 

1815 

31 

1816 

32 

1817 

33 

1818 

34 

1819 

35 

CHRONOLOGY 
ipt. 

1810  26    Reflector  edited  :  concluded  1811.    Reformists  Reply  to 

the  Edinburgh  Review.     Thornton  Hunt  born. 

1811  27    Hampstejid.     Prosecuted  with  his  brother  by  Govern- 

ment for  an  article  in  the  Ejcaminer  on  Military 
Flogging.     [Thackeray  born.     E.  A.  Poe  born.] 

1812  28    Libel  on  the  Prince  Regent  in  Examiner,  for  which,  with 

John  Hunt,  tried  and  sentenced  to  two  years'  im- 
prisonment.    [Dickens  born.     R.  Browning  born.] 

1813  29    Entered  prison   February  13.     Visited   by  Moore  and 

Byron. 

1814  30     The  Feast  of  the  Poets.     Hunt's  daughter,  Mary  Florimel, 

born  (afterwards  Mrs.  John  Gliddon). 

Left  prison.     Edgware  Road.     The  Descent  of  Liberty. 

Removes  to  Hampstead  in  the  Spring.  Visited  by 
Shelley,  December.     Tlie  Story  of  Rimini. 

13,  Lisson  Grove  North.  The  Round  Table  (with  W. 
Hazlitt). 

8,  York  Buildings,  New  Road.     Foliage. 

The  Literary  Pocket  Book;  also  in  1820  {.ad  1821.  The 
Indicator  edited  :  concluded  1821.  Hero  and  Leander 
and  Bacchus  and  Ariadne.  Poetical  Works,  Percy 
Hunt  born.     [Percy  Florence  Shelley  born.] 

1820  36    13,  Mortimer  Terrace,  Kentish  Town,  from  April  6  to 

August  23.  Portrait  by  Joseph  Severn.  Amyntas,  a 
Tale  of  the  Woods.    [George  IV.  succeeded  George  III.] 

1821  37    Vale  of  Health,  Hampstead.     The  Months,    November 

15.  Sets  out  for  Italy,  with  family,  but  driven  by  storms 
into  Plymouth,  where  detained  several  months. 
[Keats  died,  February  23.] 

1822  38    The  Hunts  start  again  for  Italy,  May.     Arrive  in  Italy, 

June.  [Shelley  died,  July  8.]  The  Liberal  edited. 
Pisa.     Genoa.     The  Literary  Examiner  edited. 

1823  39    Florence.     Vincent  Hunt  born.     Ultra-CrepidaHus :  a 

Satire  on   Wm,   Gifford,     Wishing  Cap  Papers    in 

"Examiner." 
Quarrelled  with  his  brother,  John  Hunt.     [Byron  died.] 
Bacchus  in  Tuscany,  from  the  Italian  of  Francesco 

Redi,    Returns  to  England.     Highgate  till  1828. 
Swinburne  Hunt  died. 
Portrait  by  J.  Hayter.     Lord  Byron  atid  Some  of  his 

Contemporaries,      The  Companion  edited.     Epsom. 

1830  46    Chat  of  tJie  Week  edited.     The   Tatler,  a   daily  sheet, 

edited  (concluded  February  13, 1832).  Cromwell  Lane, 
Old  Brompton.  [Hazlitt  died.  Williami  IV.  succeeded 
George  IV.] 

1831  47    Elm  Tree  Road,  St.  John's  Wood. 

xxii 


1824 

40 

1825 

41 

1827 

43 

1828 

44 

1835 

51 

1836 

52 

1837 

53 

CHRONOLOGY 

aet. 

1832  48    5,  York  Buildings,  New  Road,  till  1833,    Poetical  Works 

by  subscription.  Sir  Ralph  Esher.  Christianis7n. 
Shelley's  Masque  of  Atiarchy  edited.  [Sir  Walter 
Scott  died,] 

1833  49    4,   Upper  Oheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  till  1840,     New  series 

of  Wishing  Cap  Papers  in  "  Tait's  Magazine." 

1834  50    Selections  from  The  Indicator  and  Companion.     Leigh 

Hunt's  London  Journcd  edited  (concluded  in  1835). 
[Coleridge  died.     C.  Lamb  died.] 

Captaiyi  Sicord  arul  Captain  Pen. 

[William  Godwin  died.] 

Portrait  by  Samuel  Lawrence.  Succeeds  W,  J.  Fox  as 
editor  of  Monthly  Repository  (till  1838).  [Accession 
of  Queen  Victoria.] 
1840  56  32,  Edwardes  Square,  Kensington,  June  till  1851.  The 
Seer,  or  Commonplaces  Refreshed  (and  1841),  A  Legend 
of  Florence  produced  at  Covent  Garden,  February  7. 
Biographical  and  Critical  Sketch  of  Sheridan  prefixed 
to  Dramatic  Works,  Biographical  and  Critical  Notices 
to  works  of  Wycherley,  Oongreve,  Vanbrugh  and 
Farquhar,     [Egerton  Webbe  died,  aged  30,] 

Poems  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer  Modernized  (contributed  to). 

The  Palfrey,  a  Love  Story  of  Old  Times. 

One  Hundred  Romances  of  Real  Life  (reprinted  from 
"  London  Journal "),     [Southey  died,] 

1844  60    Pocket  edition  of  Poems  (with  additions).    Imagination 

and  Fancy.  Sir  Percy  Shelley  settled  £120  per 
annum  on  Hunt.     [T.  Campbell  died.] 

1845  61    Edited  Thornton  Hunt's  "  Foster  Brother."   [Hood  died.] 

1846  62     Wit  and  Humour.     Stories  from  the    Italian   Poets, 

2  vols. 

1847  63    Contributes  A  Saunter  through  the   West  End  to  the 

"Atlas."  3Ie7i,  Women  and  Books.  Civil  List  pen- 
sion of  £200  a  year.  Dickens'  Amateur  Company 
performed  "Every  Man  in  his  Humour"  for  Hunt's 
benefit;  he  received  400  guineas.     [Mary  Lamb  died.] 

1848  64    A  Jar  of  Honey  from  Mount  Hyhla.     The  Town.     [John 

Hunt  died  Sep.  7.] 

1849  65    A  Book  for  a  CorTier.    Edited  Readings  for  Railways. 

[E.  A.  Poe  died.] 

1850  66    Portrait  by  W.  F.  Williams.     The  Autobiography  of 

Leigh  Hunt,  3  vols.  Leigh  Hunfs  Journal,  new 
series,  edited :  Dec.  7  to  March  29,  1851.  [Words- 
worth died.] 

1851  67    2,  Phillimore  Terrace,  Kensington.     Table  Talk.    Visits 

Ewell.     [Mary  W.  Shelley  died.] 

xxiii 


1841 

57 

1842 

58 

1843 

59 

CHRONOLOGY 

a?t. 

1852  68    A     TA-gctid    of    Florence    revived    at    Sadler's    Wells. 

Vincent  Hunt  died,  October.  7,  Cromwell  Road, 
Haniniorsniith,  where  Hunt  spent  the  rest  of  his  days. 
[T.  Moore  died.] 

1853  69     The  Religion  of  the  Heart  ("Christianism,"  1832,  en- 

larged). 
1855       71     The  Old  Court  Suburb.    Stoi'ies  in  Verse.    Notes  and 
Preface  to  Finest  Scenes  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

1857  73    Poetical  Works,   2  vols.     Boston,   U.S.A.     Mrs.    Leigh 

Hunt  died. 

1858  74    im"er'.s^wm2:e)nc7i<sproducedatthe Lyceum, January 20. 

[C.  V.  Le  Grice  died.] 

1859  Revised  Autobiography.     Died  at  Putney,  August  28, 

aged  74  years  and  10  months.  Buried  at  Kensal 
Green  cemetery.     [Macaulay  died.    De  Quincey  died.) 


1859  Dec.    Autobiography,  neiv  edition  (dated  1860). 

1860  Poetical  Works,  edited  by  Thornton  Hunt. 

1862  Leigh  Hunfs  Correspondence,  edited  by  Thornton  Hunt. 

1869  Monument  to  Leigh  Hunt  in  Kensal  Green  Cemetery 

inaugurated  by  Lord  Houghton,  October  19,  the  85th 

anniversary  of  Hunt's  birth. 


XXIV 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 

TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION,   1850 

BEFORE  the  reader  looks  any  further  into   these 
volumes,  I  would  entreat  him  to  bear  in  mind 
two  things. 

And  I  say  "  entreat,"  and  put  those  two  words  in 
italics,  not  in  order  to  give  emphasis  to  the  truth  (for 
truth  is,  or  ought  to  be,  its  own  emphasis)  but  to  show 
him  how  anxious  I  am  on  the  points,  and  to  impress 
them  the  more  strongly  on  his  attention.  The  first  is, 
that  the  work,  whatever  amusement  he  may  find  in  it 
(and  I  hope,  for  the  publishers'  sake,  as  well  as  my 
own,  that  it  is  not  destitute  of  amusement)  was  com- 
menced under  circumstances  which  committed  me  to 
its  execution,  and  would  have  been  abandoned  at 
almost  every  step,  had  those  circumstances  allowed. 

The  second  is,  that  the  life  being  that  of  a  man  of 
letters,  and  topics  of  a  different  sort  failing  me  towards 
the  conclusion,  I  found  myself  impelled  to  dilate  more 
on  my  writings,  than  it  would  otherwise  have  entered 
my  head  to  contemplate.  It  is  true,  that  autobio- 
graphy, and  autocriticism  also,  have  abounded  of  late 
years  in  literary  quarters.  The  French  appear  to  have 
set  the  example.  Goldoni  and  Alfieri  followed  it.  Goethe 
and  Chateaubriand  followed  them.  Coleridge's  Literary 
Life  is  professedly  autocritical.  With  autocriticism 
Wordsworth  answered  his  reviewers.  And  editions  of 
Collected  Works  have  derived  new  attractions  from 
whatever  accounts  of  them  their  authors  have  been 
induced  to  supply. 

Example  itself,  however,  while  it  furnishes  excuse  in 
proportion  to  the  right  which  a  man  has  to  follow  it, 
becomes  a  reason  for  alarm  when  he  knows  not  the 
extent  of  the  warrant.  Others  will  have  to  determine 
that  point,  whatever  he  may  be  disposed  to  think  of  it ; 
and  perhaps  he  may  be  disposed  not  to  think  of  it  at 

XXV  c 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

all,  but  wholly  to  eschew  its  necessity.  Such,  at  all 
events,  was  the  case  with  myself.  I  would  have 
entirely  waived  the  autobiography,  if  a  sense  of  justice 
to  others  would  have  permitted  me  to  do  so.  My 
friend  and  publisher,  Mr.  Smith, ^  will  satisfy  any  one 
on  that  head,  who  is  not  acquainted  with  my  veracity. 
But  Mr.  Smith's  favourable  opinion  of  me,  and  his  own 
kindly  feeling,  led  him  to  think  it  would  be  so  much 
the  reverse  of  a  disadvantage  to  me  in  the  end,  that  he 
took  the  handsomest  means  of  making  the  task  as  easy 
to  me  as  he  could,  through  a  long  period  of  engage- 
ments over  due,  and  of  interruptions  from  ill  health ; 
and  though  I  can  never  forget  the  pain  of  mind  which 
some  of  the  passages  cost  me,  yet  I  would  now,  for 
both  our  sakes,  willingly  be  glad  that  the  work  has  been 
done,  provided  the  public  think  it  worth  reading,  and 
are  content  with  this  explanation.  The  opportunity, 
indeed,  which  it  has  given  me  of  recalling  some 
precious  memories,  of  correcting  some  crude  judgments, 
and,  in  one  respect,  of  discharging  a  duty  that  must 
otherwise  have  been  delayed,  make  me  persuade  my- 
self, on  the  whole,  that  I  am  glad.  So  I  shall  endea- 
vour, with  the  reader's  help,  to  remain  under  that 
comfortable  impression.  I  will  liken  myself  to  an 
actor,  who,  though  commencing  his  part  on  the  stage 
with  a  gout  or  a  headache,  or,  perhaps,  even  with  a  bit 
of  heartache,  finds  his  audience  so  willing  to  be  pleased, 
that  he  forgets  his  infirmity  as  he  goes,  and  ends  with 
being  glad  that  he  has  appeared. 

One  thing,  perhaps,  may  be  said  in  greater  excuse  for 
me,  than  for  most  autobiographers ;  namely,  that  I  have 
been  so  accustomed  during  the  greater  part  of  my  life 
to  talk  to  the  reader  in  my  own  person,  or  at  least  to 
compare  notes  with  him  by  implication  on  all  sorts  of 
personal  subjects,  that  I  fall  more  naturally  into  this 
kind  of  fireside  strain  than  most  writers,  and  therefore 

[^  Mr.  George  Smith  (1824-1901),  the  senior  partner  of  Messrs. 
Smith,  Elder  &  Co.  His  reminiscences  of  Leigh  Hunt  are  contained 
in  an  interesting  paper  entitled  "In  the  Early  Forties,"  which  he 
contributed  to  the  Cornhill  Magazine  for  November,  1900.  For  a 
detailed  Memoir  of  Mr.  Smith,  see  Dictionary  of  National  Bio- 
graphy.   Supplement,  vol.  I.] 

xxvi 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

do  not  present  the  public  so  abrupt  an  image  of  in- 
dividuality. 

So  much  for  talking  of  myself  at  all.  The  autocriticism 
I  would  rank  at  due  distance,  in  the  category  of  those 
explanations,  of  their  thoughts  and  feelings,  their 
designs,  or  idiosyncrasies,  with  which  poets  have 
occasionally  accompanied  their  verses,  from  the  times 
of  Dante  and  Petrarch  downwards.  At  least,  this  was 
the  example  or  instinctive  principle,  on  which  I  acted, 
owing  to  my  intimacy  with  the  old  Italian  writers,  and 
to  my  love  of  the  way  in  which  their  prose  falls  a 
talking  of  their  poetry ;  for  I  have  not  entered  into  the 
nature  of  such  autocriticism  itself,  or  given  my  reasons 
as  I  might  have  done,  and  I  think  to  good  effect,  for 
the  desirableness  of  poets  giving  an  account  of  their 
art.  I  came  unexpectedly  on  the  subject,  while  at  a 
loss  for  my  next  autobiographical  topic ;  and  I  was  so 
perplexed  what  to  find,  that  I  had  not  time  even  to 
make  choice  of  my  instances.  I  would  make  the  same 
excuse  for  going  into  details  on  other  points,  especially 
those  most  relating  to  myself ;  for  I  have  lived  long 
enough  to  discover,  that  autobiography  may  not  only  be 
a  very  distressing  but  a  puzzling  task,  and  throw  the 
writer  into  such  doubts  as  to  what  he  should  or  should 
not  say,  as  totally  to  confuse  him.  What  conscience 
bids  him  utter,  for  the  sake  of  the  world,  may  be  clear 
enough  ;  and  in  obeying  that,  he  must  find  his  consola- 
tion for  all  chances  of  injury  to  himself. 

The  autobiography  includes  all  that  seemed  worth 
retaining  of  what  has  before  been  written  in  connexion 
with  it,  and  this  has  received  the  benefit  of  a  maturer 
judgment.  The  political  articles  from  the  Examiner, 
curious  from  the  consequences  attending  them,  are 
republished  for  the  first  time  ;  several  hitherto  unpub- 
lished letters  of  Thomas  Moore  appear  in  the  third 
volume,  in  addition  to  those  which  the  public  have 
already  seen^ ;  and  the  whole  work  will  be  new  to  by  far 
the  greater  number  of  readers,  not  only  because  of  the 
new  reading  generations  that  have  come  up,  but  be- 
cause times  are  altered,  and  writers  are  willingly  heard 
['  Omitted  in  the  second  and  all  subsequent  editions.] 
xxvii 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

now,  in  tlio  comparative  calm  of  parties,  and  during 
the  anxiety  of  all  honest  men  to  know  what  it  is  best 
to  think  or  do,  whom,  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago, 
every  means  would  have  been  taken  to  suppress. 

What  may  be  said  for  the  tergeminus  honos  of  the 
portraits,  for  my  having  suffered  myself  to  be  made 
"  three  gentlemen  at  once,"  I  do  not  so  well  know ; 
unless  the  curiosity  of  catching  a  fellow-creature  in 
this  extraordinary  act  of  simultaneousness,  and  the 
being  able  to  see  ho^v  any  one  else  might  look  under 
like  presentment  of  three  different  periods  of  life,  may 
be  thought  a  reasonable  excuse  for  it.  At  all  events, 
these  are  perils  that  valiant  publishers  tell  autobio- 
graphers  they  are  bound  to  undergo ;  so  I  have 
acquiesced,  as  people  are  accustomed  to  do,  who  are 
willing  to  be  thought  valiant  in  valiant  company. 

Let  me  close  this  preface  with  thanking  two  members 
of  a  profession,  which  literature  has  always  reason  to 
thank  and  to  love ;  the  one  my  old  and  distinguished 
friend  Dr.  Southwood  Smith,  the  friend  of  his  species, 
whose  attentions  to  my  health  enabled  me  to  proceed 
with  the  work ;  and  the  other,  my  new  and,  if  I  am 
not  greatly  mistaken,  hereafter  to  be  distinguished 
friend.  Dr.  Francis  Sibson,  a  young  physician,  who  is 
not  unworthy  to  be  named  at  the  same  time,  who  did 
me  the  like  cordial  service  when  I  could  no  longer  pre- 
vail on  myself  to  interrupt  a  public  benefactor. 

And  so  Heaven  bless  the  reader,  and  all  of  us ;  and 
enable  us  to  compare  notes  some  day  in  some  Elysium 
corner  of  intuition,  where  we  shall  be  in  no  need  of 
prefaces  and  explanations,  and  only  wonder  how  any 
of  us  could  have  missed  the  secret  of  universal  know- 
ledge and  happiness. 

Reader  (smiling  and  staring  about  him). — Where  is 
it? 

Author. — Ah,  we  must  get  into  the  confines  of 
Elysium  first,  in  order  to  know. 
Reader. — And  where  is  Elysium  ? 
Author. — Why,  a  good  old  Divine  of  the  Church  of 
England  says,  the  approach  to  it  is  called  Temper. — 
"  Heaven,"  says  Dr.  Whichcote,  "  is  first  a  temper,  and 
then  a  place." 

xxviii 


INTRODUCTION 

By   THORNTON   HUNT 

THE  author's  eldest  SON 

THIS  edition  of  the  Autobiography  was  revised 
by  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  and  brought  down  to  the 
present  year  by  his  own  hand.  He  had  almost  com- 
pleted the  passages  which  he  intended  to  add ;  but  he 
had  left  some  portions  which  were  marked  for  omis- 
sion in  a  state  of  doubt.  From  the  manner  in  which 
the  work  was  written,  points  of  interest  here  and 
there  were  passed  over  indistinctly  or  omitted  alto- 
gether, and  some  inaccuracies  were  overlooked  in  the 
re-perusal.  In  a  further  revision  by  the  writer's  eldest 
son,  several  obscurities  have  been  cleared  away,  in- 
accuracies have  been  corrected,  and  omissions  have 
been  supplied.  The  interpolated  passages,  whether  in 
the  text  or  in  notes,  are  distinguished  by  being  in- 
cluded in  brackets. 

In  the  Preface  to  the  earlier  edition,  the  Author 
avowed  that  he  felt  a  difficulty  in  having  to  retrace  a 
life  which  was  marked  by  comparatively  little  incident, 
and  was  necessarily,  therefore,  mainly  a  retrospect  of 
his  own  writings.  Another  difficulty,  of  which  he  was 
evidently  conscious  only  through  its  effect  in  cramping 
his  pen,  lay  in  an  excess  of  scruple  when  he  ap- 
proached personal  matters.  In  the  revisal  of  this 
second  edition,  however,  the  lapse  of  time  had  in 
some  degree  freed  him  from  restraint ;  and  while  the 
curtailments  necessary  to  compress  the  bulk  of  the 
volume  have  been  made  principally  in  the  more  de- 
tailed portions  of  the  literary  retrospect,  the  additions 
have  tended  to  increase  the  personal  interest  of  the 
text.     The  work   is  relieved  of   some  other  portions, 

xxix 


INTRODUCTION 

because  they  may  be  found  in  his  collected  writings, 
or  because  the  subject-matter  to  which  they  refer  is 
out  of  date.  The  result  of  the  alterations  is,  that  the 
biographical  part  of  the  volume  is  brought  more 
closely  together,  while  it  is  presented  with  greater 
fulness  and  distinctness. 

The  reader  of  this  Autobiography  will  find  it  less 
a  relation  of  the  events  which  happened  to  the  writer, 
than  of  their  impression  on  himself,  and  the  feelings 
which  they  excited,  or  the  ideas  which  they  prompted. 
This  characteristic  of  the  writing  is  in  a  great  degree 
a  characteristic  of  the  man,  and  thus  the  book  reflects 
his  own  life  more  than  on  a  first  judgment  it  might 
ibe  supposed  to  do.     His  whole  existence  and  his  habit 
|of  mind  were  essentially  literary.     If  it  were  possible 
rto  form  any  computation  of  the  hours  which  he  ex- 
pended severally  in  literary  labour  and  in  recreation, 
^after  the  manner  of  statistical  comparisons,  it  would 
^be  found   that  the  largest   portion  of   his  hours  was 
I  devoted  to  hard  work  in   the  seclusion  of  the  study, 
tand   that   by  far   the   larger   portion  of   the  allotted 
I "  recreation "  was  devoted   to   reading,  either   in   the 
Istudy  or   in   the   society  of   his   family.      Those   who 
■knew  him  best  will  picture  him  to  themselves  clothed 
Hn  a  dressing-gown,  and  bending  his  head  over  a  book 
^or  over  the  desk.     At  some  periods  of  his  life  he  rose 
early,  in  order  that  he  might  get  to  work  early ;  in 
,  other   periods  he   rose   late,  because  he   sat  over  the 
Vdesk    very    late.      For    the    most    part,    however,    he 
^habitually  came  down   "  too   late "  to  breakfast,    and 
i'iwas  no  sooner  seated  sideways  at  the  table  than  he 
Jbegan  to  read.      After  breakfast   he   repaired   to    his 
|study,  where  he  remained  until  he  went  out  to  take 
I  his  walk.     He  sometimes  read  at  dinner,  though  not 
(always.     At  some  periods  of   his  life   he  would  sleep 
'■■  after  dinner ;  but  usually  he  retired  from  the  table  to 
lo'ead.     He  read  at  tea  time,  and  all  the  evening  read 
fov  wrote.     In  early  life  his  profession  led  him,  as  a 
Jcritic,  to  the  theatres,  and  the  same  employment  took 
|him  there  at  later  dates.     In  the  earlier  half  of  his 
^existence  he  mixed  somewhat  in  society,  and  his  own 

XXX 


INTRODUCTION 

house  was  noted,   amongst  a  truly  selected   circle  of 
friends,  for  the  tasteful  ease  of  its  conversation  and 
recreation,  music  usually  forming  a  staple  in  both  the 
talk  and  the  diversion.     It  was  at  this  period  of  his 
life  that  his  appearance  was  most  characteristic,  and 
none  of  the  portraits  of  him  adequately  conveyed  the 
idea  of  it.     One  of  the  best,  a  half-length  chalk  draw- 
ing,   by   an    artist   named   Wildman,    perished.      The 
miniature   by  Severn  was  only  a   sketch  on   a   small 
scale,  but  it  suggested  the  kindness  and  animation  of 
his  countenance.     In  other  cases,  the  artists  knew  too 
little  of  their  sitter  to  catch  the  most  familiar  traits  of 
his   aspect.      He   was   rather   tall,   as   straight   as   an 
arrow,  and  looked  slenderer  than  he  really  was.     Hi& 
hair  was  black   and   shining,  and  slightly  inclined  to-j 
wave;  his  head  was  high,  his  forehead  straight  andi 
white,  his  eyes  black  and  sparkling,  his  general  com-? 
plexion   dark.      There  was  in  his  whole  carriage  and, 
manner  an  extraordinary  degree  of  life.      Years  and 
trouble  had  obscured  that  brilliancy  when  the  drawing  | 
was  made  of  which  a  copy  is  prefixed  to  the  present 
volume  ^ ;   but  it  is  a  faithful  portrait,  in  which   the 
reader  will  see  much  of  the  reflection,  the  earnestness, 
and  the  affectionate  thought  that  were  such  leading  I 
elements  in  his  character. 

As  life  advanced,  as  his  family  increased  faster  than 
his  means,  his  range  of  visiting  became  more  con- 
tracted, his  devotion  to  labour  more  continuous,  and 
his  friends  reduced  to  the  small  number  of  those  who 
came  only  to  steal  for  conversation  the  time  that  he 
otherwise  would  have  given  to  his  books.  Such  friends 
he  welcomed  heartily,  and  seldom  allowed  them  to  feel 
the  tax  which  they  made  him  pay  for  the  time  thus 
consumed. 

Even  at  seasons  of  the  greatest  depression  in  his 
fortunes,  he  always  attracted  many  visitors,  but  still 
not  so  much  for  any  repute  that  attended  him  as  for 
his  personal  qualities.  Few  men  were  more  attractive 
"  in  society,"  whether  in  a  large  company  or  over  the 

['  The  portrait  by  Williams,  which  forms  the  frontispiece  ta 
Vol.  2  of  the  present  edition.] 

xxxi 


INTRODUCTION 

fireside.  His  manners  were  peculiarly  animated  ;  his 
conversation,  varied,  ranging  over  a  great  field  of 
subjects,  was  moved  and  called  forth  by  the  response 
of  his  companion,  be  that  companion  philosopher  or 
student,  siige  or  boy,  man  or  woman ;  and  he  was 
equally  ready  for  the  most  lively  topics  or  for  the 
gi'avest  reflections — his  expression  easily  adapting 
itself  to  the  tone  of  his  companion's  mind.  With 
much  freedom  of  manners,  he  combined  a  spontaneous 
courtesy  that  never  failed,  and  a  considerateness 
derived  from  a  ceaseless  kindness  of  heart  that  in- 
variably fascinated  even  strangers.  In  the  course  of 
his  newspaper  career,  more  than  one  enemy  has  come 
to  his  house  with  the  determination  to  extort  dis- 
avowals or  to  chastise,  and  has  gone  away  with  loud 
expressions  of  his  personal  esteem  and  liking. 

This  tendency  to  seclusion  in  the  study  had  a  very 
large  and  serious  influence  upon  Leigh  Hunt's  life.  It 
arose,  as  we  have  seen,  from  no  dislike  to  society  ;  on 
the  contrary,  from  youth  to  his  very  latest  days,  he 
preferred  to  have  companions  with  him ;  but  it  was 
necessary  to  be  surrounded  by  his  books.  He  used  to 
ascribe  this  propensity  to  his  two  years'  seclusion  in 
prison  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  that  circumstance  did 
contribute  to  fasten  upon  his  character  what  must 
still  have  been  an  inborn  tendency ;  for  it  continued 
through  all  changes  of  position.  His  natural  faculties 
conduced  to  make  him  regard  all  things  that  came 
before  him  chiefly  from  the  intellectual  or  imaginative 
point  of  view.  He  had  no  aptitude  for  material 
science,  and  always  retained  a  very  precarious  grasp  of 
mere  dry  facts  ;  which,  indeed,  in  proportion  as  they 
ftended  to  the  material  or  the  hard,  he  almost  dis- 
^ked  ;  the  result  was,  that  he  viewed  all  things  as  in 
<a  mirror,  and  chiefly  as  they  were  reflected  in  books 
or  illuminated  by  literary  commentary. 

It  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  such  a  habit  of 
mind  that  he  often  failed  to  see  realities  directly  as 
they  were  ;  and  a  further  result  was,  that  false  ideas 
which  were  industriously  circulated  of  him,  in  the  first 
instance  by  political  enemies,  were  confirmed,  or  even 

xxxii 


INTRODUCTION 

strengthened,  by  false  conceptions  which  he  formed  of 
himself,  and  did  not  conceal.  At  a  very  early  date,  he 
felt  bound  to  avow  his  liberal  opinions  on  the  subject  of. 
religion :  in  those  days  it  was  a  common  and  an  easy 
retort  for  an  opponent  to  insinuate,  that  the  man  who 
was  not  sound  in  the  most  important  opinions  of  all, 
must  be  wicked  at  heart,  and  therefore  immoral  in  con- 
duct; and,  accordingly,  Leigh  Hunt  has  been  accused 
of  lax  morality  in  his  personal  life.  To  him  the 
shocking  part  of  these  accusals  lay  in  their  uncharit- 
ableness,  their  disingenuousness,  or  their  malignity. 
In  reply,  he  pointed  to  the  charity  enjoined  by  the 
Divine  Author  of  Christianity,  and  qualified  even  his 
antagonism  to  such  charges  by  appeals  to  charitable 
constructions,  and  admissions  of  the  foibles  of  human 
nature,  which  suggested  that  there  might  be  some 
foundation  of  truth  for  the  charge.  He  was  accused 
of  improvidence,  and  he  admitted  incapacities  for  com- 
putation in  matters  of  money,  or  anything  else,  which 
sounded  very  like  a  reluctant  confession.  Stern  critics 
discerned,  in  the  pleasurable  traits  of  his  gayer  poems, 
proofs  of  effeminacy  and  weakness ;  and  throughout 
Leigh  Hunt's  writings  will  be  found  admissions,  or 
even  spontaneous  announcements,  of  personal  timidity. 
If  there  were  not  numbers  disposed  to  accept  the  best 
construction  of  the  man,  it  would  be  difficult  indeed  to 
make  them  easily  understand  how  utterly  unfounded 
are  these  apparent  confirmations  and  admissions. 

Such  foibles  as  Leigh  Hunt  had  lay  altogether  in 
different  directions.  In  early  life  he  had  no  very 
profound  respect  for  appearances,  but  his  conduct  was 
guided  by  a  rigour  of  propriety  that  might  shame 
many  of  his  accusers ;  and  in  later  life  he  entertained 
a  growing  respect  for  appearances  from  the  sense  of 
the  mischief  which  misconstrued  example  might  do. 
His  so-called  improvidence  resulted  partly  from  actual 
disappointment  in  professional  undertakings,  partly 
from  a  real  incapacity  to  understand  any  subjects 
when  they  were  reduced  to  figures,  and  partly  also 
from  a  readiness  of  self-sacrifice,  which  was  the  less 
to  be  guessed  by  any  who  knew  him,  since  he  seldom 

xxxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

alluded  to  it,  and  never,  except  in  the  vaguest  and 
most  unintelligible  terms,  hinted  at  its  real  nature  or 
extent.  His  personal  timidity  was  simply  an  intel- 
lectual hallucination,  in  some  degree  founded  upon 
what  he  supposed  ought  to  be  the  utterly  unmoved 
feelings  of  "  a  brave  man."  I  have  seen  him  in  many 
situations  calculated  to  try  the  nerves,  and  never  saw 
him  moved  by  personal  fear.  He  has  been  in  a  car- 
riage of  which  the  horses  ran  away,  and  seemed  only 
to  enjoy  the  rapidity  of  the  motion ;  in  fact,  I  believe 
he  could  scarcely  present  to  his  mind  the  chances  of 
personal  mischief  that  were  before  us.  I  have  seen 
him  threatened,  more  than  once,  by  brutal  and  brawny 
rustics,  whom  he  instantly  approached  with  an  ani- 
mated and  convincing  remonstrance.  I  have  seen  him 
in  a  carriage  nearly  carried  away  by  a  flooded  river, 
his  whole  anxiety  being  centred  in  one  of  his  children 
whom  he  thought  to  be  more  exposed  than  himself. 
I  have  seen  him  for  weeks  together,  each  hour  of 
the  day  in  imminent  danger  of  shipwreck,  and  never 
observed  the  slightest  solicitude,  except  for  those  about 
him.  On  the  occasion  which  he  mentions,  when  the 
drunken  steward  endangered  our  being  run  down  by 
two  large  ships  that  passed  us  like  vast  clouds  astern, 
the  lanterns  were  relit  and  handed  up  by  Leigh  Hunt 
with  the  coolness  of  a  practised  seaman.  But  there 
ivas  a  species  of  fear  which  beset  him  in  every  situa- 
tion of  life — it  was,  lest  he  might  not  do  quite  what 
was  right ;  lest  some  terrible  evil  should  be  inflicted 
upon  somebody  else  ;  and  this  thought,  if  he  reflected, 
did  sometimes  paralyse  his  action  and  provoke  evi- 
dent emotion. 

Perhaps  the  mastering  trait  in  his  character  was  a 
conscientiousness  which  was  carried  even  to  extremes. 
While  he  possessed  the  uncertain  grasp  of  material 
facts  which  I  have  mentioned,  and  viewed  things  most 
distinctly  when  they  were  presented  to  his  mind  in  the 
mirror  of  some  abstraction,  he  never  was  able  to  rest 
w^ith  a  final  confidence  in  his  own  judgment.  The 
anxiety  to  recognize  the  right  of  others,  the  tendency 
to  "  refine,"  which  was  noticed  by  an  early  school  com- 

xxxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

panion,  and  the  propensity  to  elaborate  every  thought, 
made  him,  along  with  the  direct  argument  by  which  he 
sustained  his  own  conviction,  recognize  and  almost 
admit  all  that  might  be  said  on  the  opposite  side.  If, 
indeed,  the  facts  upon  which  he  had  to  rely  had  be- 
come matter  of  literary  record,  he  would  collect  them 
with  an  unwearied  industry  of  research  ;  but  in  the 
action  of  life  these  resources  did  not  always  avail  him  ; 
and  the  excessive  anxiety  to  take  into  account  all  that 
might  be  advanced  on  every  side,  with  the  no  less 
excessive  wish  to  do  what  was  right,  to  avoid  every 
chance  of  wrong,  and,  if  possible,  to  abstain  from 
causing  any  pain,  begot  an  uncertainty  of  purpose  for 
which  il  can  find  no  known  prototype  except  in  the 
character  of  Hamlet. 

The  ultra-conscientiousness  has  affected  even  his 
biography.  With  an  unbounded  frankness  in  speak- 
ing of  himself,  he  soon  paused  in  speaking  of  others, 
from  the  habit  of  questioning  whether  he  had  "  any 
right "  to  do  so  ;  and  thus  an  habitual  frankness  was 
accompanied  by  an  habitual  and  unconquerable  re- 
serve. His  Autobiography  is  characteristically  pro- 
nounced in  its  silence.  He  has  nowhere  related  the 
most  obvious  family  incidents.  The  silence  is  broken 
almost  in  an  inverse  proportion  to  the  intimacy  of  his 
relations.  He  scarcely  mentions  his  own  marriage ; 
excepting  the  faintest  possible  allusions,  the  only  one 
of  his  children  to  whom  he  alludes  has  been  to  a 
certain  extent  before  the  public  ;  and  even  where  his 
personal  friends  gave  him,  in  their  own  recognition  by 
the  public,  the  right  to  speak  of  them  openly,  he  has 
faithfully  used  the  right  in  the  peculiar  ratio  which 
has  been  pointed  out, — freely  mentioning  those  with 
whom  he  held  intercourse  chiefly  in  literary  matters 
or  in  society,  sparingly  those  whose  intercourse  power- 
fully affected  his  own  life.  A  conspicuous  instance  is 
afforded  by  the  friend  who  ultimately  became  his  suc- 
cessor in  maintaining  the  general  independence  of  the 
Examiner,  who  has  placed  in  the  library  immortal 
contributions  to  the  political  history  of  the  English 
Commonwealth,  who  endeared  himself  to  Leigh  Hunt 

xxxv 


INTRODUCTION 

even  less  by  most  valuable  and  laborious  services  than 
by  kindness  of  heart  and  generosity  of  mind,  and  who 
retained  his  strongly  expressed  affection  to  the  last. 
It  was  not  that  he  did  not  respond  to  the  warmest 
affection  which  he  could  so  well  inspire ;  but  in  pro- 
portion as  it  was  strongly  felt  and  personal  he  seemed 
to  regard  it  as  unfitted  for  public  allusion. 

It  would  ill  become  a  son  gratuitously  to  reveal 
"  the  faults "  of  his  father ;  though  he  himself  taught 
me  to  speak  out  the  truth  as  I  believe  it.  If  I  differ 
with  him,  it  is  in  not  being  ready  to  see  "  faults "  in 
any  character,  since  I  know  of  no  abstract  or  ideal 
measure  by  which  the  shortcoming  could  be  estab- 
lished. But  in  his  case  it  is  most  desirable  that  his 
qualities  should  be  known  as  they  were ;  for  such  de- 
ficiencies as  he  had  are  the  honest  explanation  of  his 
mistakes ;  while,  as  the  reader  may  see  from  his  wri- 
ting and  his  conduct,  they  are  not,  as  the  faults  of 
which  he  was  accused  would  be,  incompatible  with  the 
noblest  faculties  both  of  head  and  heart.  To  know 
Leigh  Hunt  as  he  was,  was  to  hold  him  in  reverence 
and  love. 

The  likeness  to  Hamlet  was  not  lost  even  in  a  sort  of 
aggressive  conscientiousness.  It  affected  his  appre- 
ciation of  character,  which  was,  of  course,  modified 
also  by  the  oblique  sense  of  facts.  Hence,  some  inci- 
dents in  his  life  which  had  the  most  serious  conse- 
quences to  others,  and  therefore  to  himself.  When  he 
first  became  acquainted  with  a  new  friend  whom  he 
liked,  he  noticed  with  all  his  vivacity  of  ready  and 
intense  admiration  the  traits  which  he  thought  to  be 
chiefly  prominent  in  the  aspect  and  bearing  of  the 
other ;  constructed  a  character  inferentially,  and  es- 
teemed his  friend  accordingly.  This  constructive 
appreciation  would  survive  the  test  of  years.  Then  he 
would  discover  that  in  regard  to  some  quality  or  other 
which  he  had  ascribed  to  his  friend  "  he  was  mis- 
taken "  ;  the  whole  conception  of  the  admired  character 
at  once  fell  to  the  ground  ;  and  his  own  disappointment 
recoiled  with  bitterness  and  grief  on  the  perplexed  and 
grieved   friend.      He   never   knew    the   pain   he   thus 

xxxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

caused  to  some  of  the  most  loving  hearts,  which  con- 
tinued unchanged  to  him. 

If,   indeed,   he  knew  it,  the  simple  knowledge  was 
enough  to  cure  the  evil.     No  man  ever  lived  who  was 
more  prepared  to  make  thorough  work  with  the  prac- 
tice of  his  own  precepts — and  his  precepts  were  always 
noble  in  their  spirit,  charitable  in  their  construction. 
No  injury  done  to  him,  however  inexcusable,  however 
unceasing,    or   however   painful    in    its    consequences, 
could  exhaust  his  power  of  forgiveness.     His  anima- 
tion, his  sympathy  with  what  was  gay  and  pleasurable, 
his  avowed  doctrine  of  cultivating  cheerfulness,  were 
manifest  on  the  surface,  and  could  be  appreciated  by 
those  who  knew  him  in  society,  most  probably  even 
exaggerated  as  salient  traits,  on  which  he  himself  in- 
sisted with  a  sort  of  gay  and  ostentatious  wilfulness. 
In  the  spirit  which  made  him  disposed  to  enjoy  "  any- 
thing that  was  going  forward,"  he  would  even  assume 
for  the  evening  a  convivial  aspect,  and  urge  a  liberal 
measure  of  the  wine  with  the  gusto  of  a  bon  vivant. 
Few  that  knew  him  so  could  be  aware,  not  only  of  the 
simple  and  uncostly  sources  from  which  he  habitually 
drew  his  enjoyments,  but  of  his  singularly  plain  life, 
extended  even  to  a  rule  of  self-denial.     Excepting  at 
intervals  when  wine  was  recommended  to  him,  or  came 
to  him  as  a  gift  of  friendship,  his  customary  drink  was 
water,  which  he  would  drink  with  the  almost  daily 
repetition  of  Dr.  Armstrong's  line,  "  Nought  like  the 
simple  element  dilutes."     For,  a  trick  of  playing  with  a 
certain  round  of  quotations  was  among  the  traits  of 
his  character  most  conspicuous  even  to  casual  visitors; 
In  the  routine  of  life,  it  may  be  said,  he  almost  thought 
in  a  slang  of  the  library.     His  dress  was  always  plain 
and  studiously  economical.     He  would  excuse  the  ex- 
treme plainness  of  his  diet,  by  ascribing  it  to  a  delicacy 
of  health,  which  he  overrated.      His  food  was  often 
nothing  but  bread  and  meat  at  dinner,  bread  and  tea 
for  two  meals  of  the  day,  bread  alone  for  luncheon  or 
for  supper.     His  liberal  constructions  were  shown  to 
others,  his  strictness  to  himself.     If  he  heard  that  a 
friend   was   in   trouble,    his    house   was   offered   as   a 

xxxvii 


INTRODUCTION 

*'  homo  "  ;  and  it  was  literally  so,  many  times  in  his  life. 
Sometimes  this  generosity  was  repaid  with  outrageous 
ingratitude — with  scandal-mongering,  and  even  calum- 
nious inventions :  he  excused  the  wrong,  as  the  conse- 
quence of  deficient  sense,  of  early  training,  or  of  con- 
genital fault ;  "  for,"  he  would  remark,  "  it  is  impossible 
to  say  what  share,  now,  X.'s  father  and  mother  may 
have  had  in  his  doing  so,  or  what  ancestor  of  X.'s  may 
not  have  been  really  the  author  of  my  suffering — and 
his."  When  he  was  once  reminded  of  his  sacrifices  for 
others,  he  answered,  as  if  it  dismissed  the  subject,  "  It 
was  only  for  my  own  relations  "  ;  but  his  memory  de- 
ceived him  extravagantly.  It  was  not  that  his  kindness 
was  undiscriminating ;  for  he  "  drew  the  line  "  with 
much  clearness  between  what  he  "  could "  do  for  the 
mere  sake  of  helping  the  unfortunate,  and  the  willing- 
ness to  share  whatever  he  might  have  with  those  he 
really  esteemed  and  loved — not  a  few.  The  tender- 
ness of  his  affection  was  excessive  :  it  disarmed  some 
of  the  most  reckless  ;  it  made  him  throw  a  veil  of 
impenetrable  reserve  over  weaknesses  of  others,  from 
which  he  suffered  in  ways  most  calculated  to  mortify 
and  pain  him,  but  which  he  suffered  with  never-failing 
kindness,  and  with  silence  absolutely  unbroken. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  with  all  his 
disposition  to  refine,  his  love  of  the  pleasurable,  and 
his  tenderness,  he  was  a  mere  easy  sentimentalist.  If 
he  may  be  compared  to  Hamlet,  it  was  Hamlet  buck- 
ling himself  to  hard  work,  and  performing  with  vigour 
and  conscientious  completeness.  Seldom  have  writers 
so  conscientiously  verified  all  their  statements  of  fact. 
His  constant  industry  has  been  mentioned :  he  could 
w^ork  from  early  morning  till  far  into  midnight,  every 
day,  for  months  together ;  and  he  had  been  a  hard- 
working man  all  his  life.  For  the  greater  part,  even 
his  recreation  was  auxiliary  to  his  work.  He  had  thus 
acquired  a  knowledge  of  authorities  most  unusual,  and 
had  heaps  of  information  "  at  his  fingers'  ends "  ;  yet 
he  habitually  verified  even  what  he  knew  already, 
though  it  should  be  only  for  some  parenthetical  use. 
No  tenderness  could  shake  him  from  sternly  rebuking 

xxxviii 


INTRODUCTION 

or  opposing  where  duty  bade  him  do  so ;  and  for  a ' 
principle  he  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  everything,  as  he 
had  sacrificed  money  and  liberty.  For  all  his  excessive 
desire  not  to  withhold  his  sympathy,  not  to  hurti 
others'  feelings,  or  not  to  overlook  any  possible  excuse^' 
for  infirmity,  moral  as  well  as  physical,  he  nevej? 
paltered  with  his  own  sincerity.  He  never  swerved 
from  what  he  believed  to  be  the  truth. 

In  the  course  of  his  long  life  as  a  public  writer, 
political  and  polemical  animosities  died  away,  and  were 
succeeded  by  a  broader  recognition  of  common  pur- 
poses and  common  endeavours,  to  which  he  had  not  a 
little  contributed.  Although  some  strange  misconcep- 
tions of  Leigh  Hunt's  character  still  remained, — strange, 
though,  as  we  have  seen,  not  diflScult  to  explain, — the 
acknowledgment  of  his  genuine  qualities  had  widely  ex- 
tended. There  had  been  great  changes,  some  liberals 
had  become  conservative,  more  conservatives  had 
become  liberal,  all  had  become  less  dogmatic  and  un- 
charitable. His  personal  friendships  embraced  every 
party ;  but  through  all,  the  spirit  of  his  opinions,  the 
qualities  of  his  character,  the  unweariedness  of  his 
industry,  continued  the  same.  To  promote  the  happi-| 
ness  of  his  kind,  to  minister  to  the  more  educated! 
appreciation  of  order  and  beauty,  to  open  more  widely 
the  dour  of  the  library,  and  more  widely  the  window 
of  the  library  looking  out  upon  nature, — these  were 
the  purposes  that  guided  his  studies  and  animated 
his  labour  to  the  very  last.  [1859.] 


XXXIX 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  AUTHOR'S  PROGENITORS 

THE  circumstances  that  led  to  this  Autobiography 
will  transpire  in  the  course  of  it.  Suffice  it  to  say 
for  the  present,  that  a  more  involuntary  production  it 
would  be  difficult  to  conceive  ;  though  I  trust  it  will  not 
be  found  destitute  of  the  entertainment  which  any  true 
account  of  experiences  in  the  life  of  a  human  being 
must  of  necessity,  -perhaps,  contain. 

I  claim  no  importance  for  anything  which  I  have 
done  or  undergone,  but  on  grounds  common  to  the 
interests  of  all,  and  to  the  willing  sympathy  of  my 
brother-lovers  of  books.  Should  I  be  led  at  any  time 
into  egotisms  of  a  nature  that  make  me  seem  to  think 
otherwise,  I  blush  beforehand  for  the  mischance,  and 
beg  it  to  be  considered  as  alien  from  my  habits  of  re- 
flection. I  have  had  vanities  enough  in  my  day ;  and, 
as  the  reader  will  see,  became  aware  of  them.  If  I 
have  any  remaining,  I  hope  they  are  only  such  as 
nature  kindly  allows  to  most  of  us,  in  order  to  comfort 
us  in  our  regrets  and  infirmities.  And  the  more  we 
could  look  even  into  these,  the  less  ground  we  should 
find  in  them  for  self-complacency,  apart  from  con- 
siderations that  respect  the  whole  human  race. 

There  is  a  phrase,  for  instance,  of  "  fetching  a  man's 
mind  from  his  cradle."  But  does  the  mind  begin  at  that 
point  of  time  ?  Does  it  begin  even  with  his  parents  ? 
I  was  looking  once,  in  company  with  Mr.  Hazlitt,  at  an 
exhibition  of  pictures  in  the  British  Institution,  when 
casting  my  eyes  on  the  portrait  of  an  officer  in  the  dress 
of  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second,  I  exclaimed,  "  What 

1  B 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

a  likeness  to  Basil  Montagu  !"'  (a  friend  of  ours).  It 
turned  out  to  be  his  ancestor,  Lord  Sandwich.  Mr. 
Hazlitt  took  mo  across  the  room,  and  showed  me  the 
portrait  of  a  celebrated  judge,  who  lived  at  the  same 
period.  "This,"  said  he,  "  is  Judge  So-and-so  ;  and  his 
living  representative  (he  is  now  dead)  has  the  same  face 
and  the  same  passions."  The  Hazlitt  then  of  the  same 
age  might  have  been  the  same  Hazlitt  that  w^as  stand- 
ing with  me  before  the  picture  ;  and  the  same  may  have 
been  the  case  wdth  the  writer  of  these  pages.  There 
is  a  famous  historical  bit  of  transmission  called  the 
"  Austrian  lip  ;  "  and  faces,  which  we  consider  peculiar 
to  individuals,  are  said  to  be  common  in  districts :  such 
as  the  Boccaccio  face  in  one  part  of  Tuscany,  and  the 
Dante  face  in  another.  I  myself  have  seen,  in  the 
Genoese  territory,  which  is  not  far  from  Corsica,  many 
a  face  like  that  of  the  Bonapartes  ;  and  where  a  race 
has  strong  blood  in  it,  or  whatever  may  constitute  the 
requisite  vital  tendency,  it  is  probable  that  the  family 
likeness  might  be  found  to  prevail  in  the  humblest  as 
well  as  highest  quarters.  There  are  families,  indeed,  of 
yeomen,  which  are  said  to  have  flourished  like  oaks,  in 
one  and  the  same  spot,  since  the  times  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons.  I  am  descended,  both  by  father's  and  mother's 
side,  from  adventurous  people,  who  left  England  for 
the  New  World,  and  whose  descendants  have  retained 
the  spirit  of  adventure  to  this  day.  The  chances  are, 
that  in  some  respects  I  am  identical  with  some  half- 
dozen,  or  perhaps  twenty  of  these  ;  and  that  the  mind 
of  some  cavalier  of  the  days  of  the  Stuarts,  or  some 
gentleman  or  yeoman,  or  "  roving  blade,"  of  those  of 
the  Edwards  and  Henrys — perhaps  the  gallant  mer- 
chant-man,  "  Henry  Hunt  "  of  the  old  ballad — mixed^ 

[^  Basil  Montagu,  Q.C.  (1770-1851),  was  the  natural  son  of  John 
Montagu,  fourth  Earl  of  Sandwich,  by  Miss  Martha  Ray,  an  actress 
who  was  shot  by  an  admirer,  the  Rev.  James  Hackman,  at  Covent 
Garden  Theatre  in  1779.    Montagu  was  a  voluminous  writer,  and  the 

J, editor  of  an  edition  of  Bacon's  works  in  16  vols.,  which  is  now 
chiefly  remembered  as  the  basis  of  Macaulay's  scathing  essay  on 
Bacon.  Montagu's  third  wife,  Mrs.  Skepper,  had  a  daughter  by  a 
previous   marriage,    who  afterwards  became    the   wife   of   Bryan 

:,  Waller  Procter  (Barry  Cornwall)  and  the  mother  of  Adelaide  Anne 

•  Procter.) 

2 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

alas  !  with  a  sedentary  difference — is  now  writing  these 
lines,  ignorant  of  his  former  earthly  self  and  of  his 
present !  I  say  earthly,  for  I  speak  it  with  no  dis- 
paragement to  the  existence  of  an  individual  "  soul " — 
a  point  in  which  I  am  a  firm  believer ;  nor  would  it  be 
difficult  to  reconcile  one  opinion  with  the  other,  in  ears 
accustomed  to  such  arguments  ;  but  I  must  not  enter 
upon  them  here.^ 

The  name  of  Hunt  is  found  among  the  gentry,  but  I 
suspect  it  is  oftener  a  plebeian  name.  Indeed  it  must 
be  so,  like  almost  all  others,  from  the  superabundance 
of  population  on  the  plebeian  side.  But  it  has  also  a 
superabundance  of  its  own  ;  for  in  the  list  of  sixty  of 
the  commonest  names  in  England,  given  by  Mr.  Lower""* 
in  his  Essay  on  Family  Nomenclature,  it  stands  fifty- 
fourth.  On  the  other  hand,  offsets  from  aristocratic 
trees  wander  into  such  remote  branches,  that  the  same 
name  is  found  among  those  of  the  few  families  that 
have  a  right  to  quarter  the  royal  arms.  I  should  be 
very  proud  to  be  discovered  to  be  a  nine  hundred  and 
fiftieth  cousin  of  Queen  Victoria  ;  the  more  so,  inas- 
much as  I  could,  patiently  enough,  have  let  the  claim 
lie  dormant  in  the  case  of  some  of  her  Majesty's  prede- 
cessors.    My  immediate  progenitors  were  clergymen  ; 

1  "Then  Henrye  Hunt,  with  vigour  hott, 
Came  bravely  on  the  other  side, 
Soon  he  drove  downe  his  foremast  tree, 

(Sir  Andrexo  Barton's,  to  vnt) 
And  killM  fourscore  men  beside. 
'  Nowe,  out  alas  ! '  Sir  Andrewe  cryed, 

'  What  may  a  man  now  think,  or  say  ? 
Yonder  merchant  theefe,  that  pierceth  mee, 
He  was  my  prisoner  yesterday.'  " 
Ballad  of  Sir  Andrexv  Barton,  in  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  2. 

Barton,  a  kind  of  "Scottish  rover  on  the  seas"  (as  the  balhixi 
calls  him),  worried  the  English  navigation  in  the  time  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  and  was  killed  in  the  engagement  here  noticed,  in  which 
the  two  ships  under  his  command  were  captured  by  two  English 
ships  under  the  command  of  Sir  Thomas  and  Sir  Edward  Howard. 
Hunt  was  captain  of  a  merchantman,  of  Newcastle,  which  traded  to 
Bordeaux,  and  which  had  been  one  of  Barton's  prizes.  I  hope  the 
gallant  seaman's  Bordeaux  claret  was  ancestor  of  that  which  my 
progenitors  drank  in  Barbados. 

[^  Mark  Anthony  Lower  (1813-1876)  published  his  English  Sur- 
names, an  Essay  on  Family  Nomenclature,  in  1842.] 

3 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

niul  Bryan  Edwards's  History  of  the  West  Indies  contains 
a  map  of  Barbados  (their  native  place)  with  one  of  the 
residences  designated  by  it — apparently  a  minor  estate 
— yet  the  name  of  Hunt  does  not  appear  either  in  the 
old  map  in  the  History  of  Barbados  by  Ligon,  or  in  the 
lists  of  influential  or  other  persons  in  that  by  Sir  Robert 
Schomburgck.  There  is  a  "  Richard  Hunt,  Esq.,"  in  the 
list  of  subscribers  to  Hughes's  Natural  History  of  Bar- 
bados, which  contains  also  the  name  of  Dr.  Hunt,  who 
was  Hebrew  and  Arabic  professor  at  Oxford,  and  whose 
genealogy  the  biographer  cannot  discover.  Perhaps  the 
good  old  oriental  scholar  belongs  to  our  stock,  and 
originated  my  love  of  the  Arabian  Nights  !  The  tradi- 
tion in  the  family  is  that  we  descend  from  Tory  cavaliers 
(a  wide  designation),  who  fled  to  the  West  Indies  from 
the  ascendancy  of  Cromwell  ;  and  on  a  female  side, 
amidst  a  curious  mixture  of  quakers  and  soldiers,  we 
derive  ourselves  not  only  from  gentry,  but  from  kings 
— that  is  to  say,  Irish  kings  ! — personages  (not  to  say  it 
disrespectfully  to  the  wit  and  misfortunes  of  the  sister- 
island)  who  rank  pretty  much  on  a  par  with  the  negro 
chief,  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  lords  in  ragged  shirts, 
who  asked  the  traveller  what  his  brother  kings  thought 
of  him  in  Europe.  A  learned  and  friendly  investigator 
into  the  matter  thinks  the  Cromwell  tradition  a  mis- 
take, and  brings  us  from  a  clergyman  of  the  name  of 
Isaac  Hunt  (my  father's  name),  who  left  Exeter  for 
Barbados  in  the  time  of  James  the  First.  He  connects  us 
also  with  a  partner  in  the  mercantile  firm  of  Hunt  and 
Lascelles  in  that  island,  one  of  w^hich  latter  persons 
came  into  England  during  the  first  half  of  the  last 
century,  and  gave  rise  to  the  noble  family  of  Hare- 
wood.  In  the  British  Museum  is  a  manuscript  journal 
that  was  kept  in  this  year  by  a  Hunt  of  the  same 
Christian  name  of  Isaac.  I  take  our  paternal  family 
stock  to  have  been  divided  for  many  generations  be- 
tween the  clerical  and  mercantile  professions. 

The  etymology,  however,  of  the  name  is  obvious ; 
and  very  unfit  does  it  render  it  for  its  present  owners. 
The  pastime  in  which  their  Saxon  ancestors  may  have 
excelled,  so  as  to  derive  from  it  their  very  appellation, 

4 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

is  contrary  to  the  principles  of  their  descendants  !  But 
hunting  was  not  merely  a  pastime  in  old  Saxon  days. 
It  was  a  business  and  a  necessity  ;  there  were  children 
to  feed,  and  wild  beasts  to  be  exterminated.  Besides, 
one  must  share  and  share  alike  in  the  reputation  of 
one's  fellow  creatures.  I  dare  say  the  Hunts  were  as 
ferocious  in  those  days  as  their  name  may  have  im- 
plied. They  have  since  hunted  in  other  ways,  not 
always  without  a  spice  of  fierceness  ;  and  smarting 
have  been  the  wounds  which  they  have  both  given  and 
taken. 

[The  more  probable  etymology  of  the  name  traces  it 
to  the  geographical  use  of  the  word,  designating  a 
district  used  for  the  chase.  The  tradition  of  Irish 
kings  has  probably  been  introduced  by  a  very  doubtful 
connection  with  the  Hunts  of  Ireland,  who  have  changed 
their  name  for  that  of  De  Vere,  which  they  also  claim 
by  inheritance.  One  of  the  family,  in  a  jocular  way, 
claimed  cousinship  with  Leigh  Hunt ;  but  if  any  re- 
lationship existed,  it  must  have  been  before  either 
family  left  England  for  Barbados,  or  for  Ireland.  The 
Bickleys,  mentioned  subsequently,  were  not  of  Irish 
origin,  though  Sir  William  served  in  Ireland.  The 
Hunts  of  Barbados  were  among  the  very  earliest  settlers, 
and  the  name  may  be  seen  in  a  list  published  in  Barbados 
in  1612  ;  but  it  is  testimony  from  which  the  auto- 
biographer  probably  shrunk  with  dislike,  for  it  is  an 
old  list,  perhaps  the  oldest  existing  list,  of  negro  slave- 
owners. There  is  reason  to  believe  that  members  of 
the  family  revisited  their  native  country  in  the  course 
of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.     T.  H.] 

I  have  begun  my  book  with  my  progenitors  and 
with  childhood,  partly  because  "  order  gives  all  things 
view,"  partly  because,  whatever  we  may  assume  as  we 
grow  up  respecting  the  "  dignity  of  manhood,"  we  all 
feel  that  childhood  was  a  period  of  great  importance 
to  us.  Most  men  recur  to  it  with  delight.  They  are 
in  general  very  willing  to  dilate  upon  it,  especially  if 
they  meet  with  an  old  schoolfellow ;  and  therefore, 
on  a  principle  of  reciprocity,  and  as  I  have  long  con- 
sidered myself  a  kind  of  playmate  and  fellow-disciple 

5 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

with  persons  of  all  times  of  life  (for  none  of  us,  unless 
wo  are  very  silly  or  naughty  boys  indeed,  ever  leave 
off  learning  in  some  school  or  other),  I  shall  suppose 
I  have  been  listening  to  some  other  young  gentleman 
of  sixty  or  seventy  years  of  age  over  his  wine,  and 
that  I  am  now  going  to  relate  about  half  as  much 
respecting  my  existence  as  he  has  told  us  of  his  own. 

My  grandfather,  himself  the  son,  I  believe,  of  a 
clergyman,  was  Rector  of  St.  Michael's,  in  Bridge  Town, 
Barbados.  He  was  a  good-natured  man,  and  recom- 
mended the  famous  Lauder  ^  to  the  mastership  of  the 
free  school  there ;  influenced,  no  doubt,  partly  by  his 
pretended  repentance,  and  partly  by  sympathy  with 
his  Toryism.  Lauder  is  said  to  have  been  discharged 
for  misconduct.  I  never  heard  that ;  but  I  have  heard 
that  his  appearance  was  decent,  and  that  he  had  a 
wooden  leg  :  which  is  an  anti-climax  befitting  his 
history.'^  My  grandfather  was  admired  and  beloved 
by  his  parishioners  for  the  manner  in  which  he  dis- 
charged his  duties.  He  died  at  an  early  age,  in  con- 
sequence of  a  fever  taken  in  the  hot  and   damp  air, 

[1  William  Lauder  (?  1680-1771),  the  author  of  An  essay  on  Milton's 
Use  and  Imitations  of  the  Moderrws  in  Paradise  Lost.  The  evidence 
put  forward  in  the  work  was  fabricated  by  the  writer,  who  suc- 
ceeded in  duping,  among  othei"s,  Dr.  Johnson.] 

^  Since  writing  this  passage,  I  find  a  more  serious  conclusion  to 
his  history  in  a  book  entitled  Creoliana;  or.  Social  and  Domestic 
Scenes  and  Incidents  in  Barbados  in  Days  of  Yore,  by  J.  W.  Order- 
son.  He  is  there  said  to  have  failed  in  his  school ;  and  to  have  set 
up  a  huckster's  shop  with  the  aid  of  an  African  woman  whom  he 
had  purchased.  After  behaviour  to  a  daughter  by  this  woman 
which  cannot  be  described,  and  her  repulses  of  which  he  resented 
by  ordering  her  to  be  scourged,  he  sold  her  to  a  naval  captain,  who 
rescued  her  from  the  infliction. 

Let  us  hope  that  Lauder  would  have  denied  the  paternity  imputed 
to  him.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  would  have  denied  more,  or  did  deny 
it  ;  for  his  answer  of  the  charges  yet  remains  to  be  heard.  The 
poor  girl  afterwards  became  the  fat  and  flourishing  landlady  of  an 
hotel ;  and  is  famous  in  Barbadian  and  nautical  annals  for  having 
successfully  drawn  up  a  bill  of  damages  to  the  amount  of  seven 
hundred  pounds  against  his  Royal  Highness  Prince  William  Henry, 
afterwards  Duke  of  Clarence  and  King  William  the  Fourth,  who  in 
a  fit  of  ultrajoviality  with  the  mess  of  the  Forty-ninth  Regiment, 
demolished  all  the  furniture  in  her  house,  to  the  very  beds ;  the 
cunning  hostess  (whom  he  upset  as  he  went  away)  refusing  to 
interfere  with  the  vivacities  of  "Massa,  the  King's  son,"  which  she 
prudently  concluded  he  would  pay  for  like  a  gentleman. 

6 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

while  officiating  incessantly  at  burials  during  a  mortality. 
His  wife,  who  was  an  O'Brien,  or  rather  Bryan,  very 
proud  of  her  descent  from  the  kings  aforesaid  (or  of 
the  kings  from  her),  was  as  good-natured  and  beloved 
as  her  husband,  and  very  assiduous  in  her  attentions 
to  the  negroes  and  to  the  poor,  for  whom  she  kept  a 
set  of  medicines,  like  my  Lady  Bountiful.  They  had 
two  children  besides  my  father  :  Ann  Courthope,  who 
died  unmarried  ;  and  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Thomas  Dayrell, 
Esq.,  of  Barbados,  one  of  the  family  of  the  Dayrells 
of  Lillingstone,  and  father  by  a  first  marriage  of  the 
late  barrister  of  that  name.  I  mention  both  of  these 
ladies,  because  they  will  come  among  my  portraits. 

To  these  their  children,  the  worthy  Rector  and  his 
wife  were  a  little  too  indulgent.  When  my  father  was 
to  go  to  the  American  continent  to  school,  the  latter 
dressed  up  her  boy  in  a  fine  suit  of  laced  clothes,  such 
as  we  see  on  the  little  gentlemen  in  Hogarth  ;  but  so 
splendid  and  costly  that  when  the  good  pastor  beheld 
him  he  was  moved  to  utter  an  expostulation.  Ob- 
jection, however,  soon  gave  way  before  the  pride  of 
all  parties  ;  and  my  father  set  off  for  school,  ready 
spoilt,  with  plenty  of  money  to  spoil  him  more. 

He  went  to  college  at  Philadelphia,  and  became  the 
scapegrace  who  smuggled  in  the  wine,  and  bore  the 
brunt  of  the  tutors.  My  father  took  the  degree  of 
Master  of  Arts,  both  at  Philadelphia  and  New  York. 
When  he  spoke  the  farewell  oration  on  leaving  college, 
two  young  ladies  fell  in  love  with  him,  one  of  whom 
he  afterwards  married.  He  was  fair  and  handsome, 
with  delicate  features,  a  small  aquiline  nose,  and  blue 
eyes.  To  a  graceful  address  he  joined  a  remarkably 
fine  voice,  which  he  modulated  with  great  effect.  It 
was  in  reading,  with  this  voice,  the  poets  and  other 
classics  of  England,  that  he  completed  the  conquest 
of  my  mother's  heart.  He  used  to  spend  the  evenings 
in  this  manner  with  her  and  her  family, — a  noble  way 
of  courtship ;  and  my  grandmother  became  so  hearty 
in  his  cause  that  she  succeeded  in  carrying  it  against 
her  husband,  who  wished  his  daughter  to  marry  a 
wealthy  neighbour.     [The  bride  was  Mary,  the  daughter 

7 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

of  Stephen  Shewell,  a  merchant  of  Philadelphia,  a 
vehement  man,  both  in  public  and  in  family  matters. 
The  other  lady  was  Mary's  aunt,  although  the  girls 
were  about  the  same  age.     T.  H.] 

My  father  was  intended,  I  believe,  to  carry  on 
the  race  of  clergymen,  as  he  afterwards  did  ;  but 
he  went,  in  the  first  instance,  into  the  law.  The 
Americans  united  the  practice  of  attorney  and  barrister. 
My  father  studied  the  law  under  articles  to  one  of  the 
chief  persons  in  the  profession  ;  and  afterwards  prac- 
tised with  distinction  himself.  At  this  period  (by 
which  time  all  my  brothers  except  one  were  born)  the 
Revolution  broke  out ;  and  he  entered  with  so  much 
zeal  into  the  cause  of  the  British  Government,  that, 
besides  pleading  for  loyalists  with  great  fervour  at  the 
bar,  he  wrote  pamphlets  equally  full  of  party  warmth, 
w^hich  drew  on  him  the  popular  odium.  His  fortunes 
then  came  to  a  crisis  in  America.  Early  one  morning, 
a  great  concourse  of  people  appeared  before  his  house. 
He  came  out — or  was  brought.  They  put  him  into  a 
cart  prepared  for  the  purpose  (conceive  the  anxiety  of 
his  wife  !),  and,  after  parading  him  about  the  streets, 
were  joined  by  a  party  of  the  revolutionary  soldiers 
with  drum  and  fife.  The  multitude,  some  days  before, 
for  the  same  purpose,  had  seized  Dr.  Kearsley,  a 
staunch  Tory,  who  on  learning  their  intention  had 
shut  up  the  windows  of  his  house,  and  endeavoured  to 
prevent  their  getting  in.  The  doctor  had  his  hand 
pierced  by  a  bayonet,  as  it  entered  bet^'een  the  shutters 
behind  which  he  had  planted  himself.  He  was  dragged 
out  and  put  into  the  cart,  dripping  with  blood  ;  but  he 
lost  none  of  his  intrepidity ;  for  he  answered  their 
reproaches  and  outrage  with  vehement  reprehensions  ; 
and,  by  way  of  retaliation  on  the  "  Rogue's  March," 
struck  up  "  God  save  the  King."  My  father,  who  knew 
Kearsley,  had  endeavoured  to  persuade  him  not  to  add 
to  their  irritation ;  but  to  no  purpose.  The  doctor 
continued  infuriate,  and  more  than  once  fainted  from 
loss  of  blood  and  the  violence  of  his  feelings.  My 
father  comparatively  softened  the  people  with  his 
gentler  manners ;  yet  he  is  understood,  like  Kearsley, 

8 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

to  have  had  a  narrow  escape  from  tarring  and  feather- 
ing. A  tub  of  tar,  which  had  been  set  in  a  conspicuous 
place  in  one  of  the  streets  for  that  purpose,  was  over- 
turned by  an  officer  intimate  with  our  family.  The 
well-bred  loyalist,  however,  did  not  escape  entirely 
from  personal  injury.  One  of  the  stones  thrown  by 
the  mob  gave  him  such  a  severe  blow  on  the  head,  as 
not  only  laid  him  swooning  in  the  cart,  but  dimmed 
his  sight  for  life.  At  length,  after  being  carried  through 
every  street  in  Philadelphia,  he  was  deposited,  as  Dr. 
Kearsley  had  been,  in  a  prison  in  Market  Street.  The 
poor  doctor  went  out  of  his  mind,  and  ended  his  days 
not  long  afterwards  in  confinement.^  My  father,  by 
means  of  a  large  sum  of  money  given  to  the  sentinel 
who  had  charge  of  him,  was  enabled  to  escape  at  mid- 
night. He  went  immediately  on  board  a  ship  in  the 
Delaware,  that  belonged  to  my  grandfather,  and  was 
bound  for  the  West  Indies.  She  dropped  down  the 
river  that  same  night  ;  and  my  father  went  first  to 
Barbados,  and  afterwards  to  England,  where  he 
settled. 

My  mother  was  to  follow  my  father  as  soon  as 
possible,  which  she  was  not  able  to  do  for  many 
months.  The  last  time  she  had  seen  him,  he  was  a 
lawyer  and  a  partisan,  going  out  to  meet  an  irritated 
populace.  On  her  arrival  in  England,  she  beheld  him 
in  a  pulpit,  a  clergyman,  preaching  tranquillity.  When 
my  father  came  over,  he  found  it  impossible  to  continue 
his  profession  as  a  la\vyer.  Some  actors,  who  heard 
him  read,  advised  him  to  go  on  the  stage  ;  but  he  was 
too  proud  for  that,  and  he  went  into  the  Chvirch.     He 

'  I  learn  this  particular  i-especting  Dr.  Kearsley  from  an  amusing- 
and  interesting  book,  entitled  Bleiiioirs  of  a  Life  chiefly  passed  in 
Pennsylvania,  the  anonymous  author  of  which  is  understood  to 
have  been  a  Captain  Graddon,  or  Graydon,  an  officer  in  the 
American  service.  The  same  work  has  occasioned  me  to  represent 
the  treatments  of  Kearsley  and  my  father  as  occurring  on  two 
distinct  days,  instead  of  siniultaneously,  as  in  the  family  tradition, 
the  Captain  informing  us  that  he  was  an  eye-witness  of  both. 

There  appears  to  have  been  something  constitutionally  wild  in  the 
temperament  of  Kearsley.  The  Captain  describes  him  as  having 
ridden  once,  dining  a  midnight  frolic,  into  the  parlour  of  a  lodging- 
house,  mounted  on  horseback,  and  even  up  the  stairs  ! 

9 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

was  ordained  by  the  celebrated  Lowth,'  then  Bishop  of 
London  ;  and  he  soon  became  so  popular  that  the 
Bishop  sent  for  him  and  remonstrated  against  his 
}>ri'aching  so  many  charity  sermons.  His  lordship  said 
that  it  was  ostentatious  in  a  clergyman,  and  that  he 
saw  his  name  in  too  many  advertisements.  My  father 
thought  it  strange,  but  acquiesced.  It  is  true  he 
preached  a  great  many  of  these  sermons.  I  am  told 
that  for  a  whole  year  he  did  nothing  else  ;  and 
perha]:>s  there  was  something  in  his  manner  a  little 
startling  to  the  simplicity  of  the  Church  of  England. 
I  remember  when  he  came  to  that  pait  of  the  Litany 
where  the  reader  prays  for  his  deliverance  "  in  the 
hour  of  death  and  at  the  day  of  judgment,"  he  used 
to  make  a  pause  at  the  word  "  death,"  and  drop  his 
voice  on  the  rest  of  the  sentence.  The  effect  was 
striking  ;  but  the  repetition  must  have  hurt  it.  I  am 
afraid  it  was  a  little  theatrical.  His  delivery,  however, 
was  so  much  admired  by  those  who  thought  themselves 
the  best  judges,  that  Thomas  Sheridan,'^  father  of  the 
celebrated  Sheridan,  came  up  to  him  one  day,  after 
service,  in  the  vestry,  and  complimented  him  on  having 
profited  so  well  from  his  'Treatise  on  Reading  the 
Litany.  My  father  was  obliged  to  tell  him  that  he 
had  never  seen  it. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  Lowth,  but  it  was 
some  bishop  to  whom  my  father  one  day,  in  the  midst 
of  a  warm  discussion,  being  asked,  "  Do  you  know  who 
I  am  ?  "  replied,  with  a  bow,  "  Yes,  my  lord  ;  dust  and 
ashes."  Doubtless  the  clergyman  was  warm  and  im- 
prudent. In  truth,  he  made  a  great  mistake  when  he 
entered  the  profession.  By  the  nature  of  the  tenure 
it  was  irretrievable,  and  his  whole  life  after  was  a 
series  of  errors  arising  from  the  unsuitability  of  his 
position.  He  was  fond  of  divinity ;  but  it  was  as  a 
speculator,  not  as  a  dogmatist,  or  one  who  takes  upon 
trust.    He  was  ardent  in  the  cause  of  Church  and  State ; 

[ »  Robert  Lowth  (1710-1787).  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  1766 ;  trans- 
lated to  Oxford  the  same  year  ;  Bishop  of  London,  1777 ;  on 
the  death  of  Archbishoj)  Coiiiwallis,  he  was  offered  the  primacy, 
but  decHned  it.] 

[  ="  Thomas  Sheridan  (1719-1788),  elocutionist  and  lexicographer.] 

10 


I 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

but  here  he  speculated  too,  and  soon  began  to  modify 
his  opinions,  which  got  him  the  ill-will  of  the  Govern- 
ment. He  delighted  his  audiences  in  the  pulpit,  so 
much  so  that  he  had  crowds  of  carriages  at  the  dooi-. 
One  of  his  congregations  had  an  engraving  made  of 
him,  and  a  lady  of  the  name  of  Cooling,  who  was 
member  of  another,  left  him  by  will  the  sum  of  £500 
as  a  testimony  of  the  pleasure  and  advantage  she  had 
derived  from  his  discourses. 

But  unfortunately,  after  delighting  his  hearers  in 
the  pulpit,  he  would  delight  some  of  them  a  little  too 
much  over  the  table.  He  was  extremely  lively  and 
agreeable,  was  full  of  generous  sentiments,  could  flat- 
ter without  grossness,  had  stories  to  tell  of  lords  whom 
he  knew,  and  when  the  bottle  was  to  circulate  it  did 
not  stand  with  him.  All  this  was  dangerous  to  a  West 
Indian  who  had  an  increasing  family  and  who  was  to 
make  his  way  in  the  Church.  It  was  too  much  for 
him ;  and  he  added  another  to  the  list  of  those  who, 
though  they  might  suffice  equally  for  themselves  and 
others  in  a  more  considerate  and  contented  state  of 
society,  and  seem  born  to  be  the  delights  of  it,  are  only 
lost  and  thrown  out  in  a  system  of  things  which,  by 
going  upon  the  ground  of  individual  aggrandizement, 
compels  dispositions  of  a  more  sociable  and  reasonable 
nature  either  to  become  parties  concerned  or  be  ruined 
in  the  refusal.  It  is  doubtless  incumbent  on  a  husband 
and  father  to  be  careful  under  all  circumstances :  and 
it  is  easy  for  most  people  to  talk  of  the  necessity  of 
being  so  and  to  recommend  it  to  others,  especially 
when  they  have  been  educated  to  the  habit.  Let  those 
fling  the  first  stone  who,  with  the  real  inclination  and 
talent  for  other  things  (for  the  inclination  may  not  be 
what  they  take  it  for),  confine  themselves  industriously 
to  the  duties  prescribed  them.  There  are  more  victims 
to  errors  committed  by  society  itself  than  society  sup- 
poses. 

But  I  grant  that  a  man  is  either  bound  to  tell  society 
so  or  to  do  as  others  do.  My  father  was  always 
zealous,  theoretically  speaking,  both  for  the  good  of 
the  world  and  for  that  of  his  family  (I  remember  a 

11 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

printed  jH'oposal  which  ho  drew  up  for  an  academy,  to 
bo  outitlod  the  *' Oosniopolitical  Seminary  ")  ;  but  ho  had 
neither  uneasiness  enough  in  his  blood,  nor,  perhaps, 
sufficient  strength  in  his  convictions,  to  bring  his  spccu- 
latit)n8  to  bear;  and  as  to  the  prido  of  cutting  a  figure 
above  his  noighl)ours,  ^vhich  so  many  men  mistake  for 
a  better  principle  of  action,  he  could  dispense  with 
that.  As  it  was,  he  should  have  been  kept  at  home  in 
Barbados.  He  w^as  a  true  exotic,  and  ought  not  to 
have  been  transplanted.  He  might  have  preached 
there,  and  quoted  Horace,  and  been  gentlemanly  and 
generous,  and  drunk  his  claret,  and  no  harm  done. 
But  in  a  bustling,  commercial  state  of  society,  where 
the  enjoyment,  such  as  it  is,  consists  in  the  bustle,  he 
was  neither  very  likely  to  succeed  nor  to  meet  with  a 
good  construction,  nor  to  end  his  pleasant  w^ays  with 
l)leasing  either  the  world  or  himself. 

It  was  in  the  pulpit  of  Bentinck  Chapel,  Lisson  Green, 
Paddington,  that  my  mother  found  her  husband  offi- 
ciating. He  published  a  volume  of  sermons  preached 
there,  in  which  there  is  little  but  elegance  of  diction  and 
a  graceful  morality.  ^  His  delivery  was  the  charm,  and, 
to  say  the  truth,  he  charmed  everybody  but  the  owner 
of  the  chapel,  who  looked  upon  rent  as  by  far  the  most 
eloquent  production  of  the  pulpit.  The  speculation 
ended  wdth  the  preacher  being  horribly  in  debt.  Friends, 
however,  were  lavish  of  their  assistance.  Three  of  my 
brothers  were  sent  to  school,  the  other,  at  her  earnest 
entreaty,  went  to  live  (which  he  did  for  some  years) 

['  The  following  publications  by  the  Rev.  Isaac  Hunt  (1752-1809) 
are  contained  in  the  catalogue  of  the  British  Museum: — A  Sei-mon 
[on  Psalm  xi.  2-6]  Preached  before  the  Laudable  Associntion of  Anti- 
(jallivans  ....  2;3i'il  of  April,  1778.  London,  1778,  4°.  A  Sermon 
[on  Matt.  vi.  11]  occasioned  bi/  the  General  Distress  of  the  Parish  of 
iMarylebone,  oh  the  Improvident  Accommodation  of  the  poor  In- 
habitatits  for  the  jmr pose  of  Public  Worship,  etc.,  pp.  31.  London, 
1781,  8°.  Sev)no)is  on  Public  Occasions  (some  account  of  the  laud- 
able Institution  of  the  Society  of  Antigallicans).  London,  1781,  8°. 
Ways  and  means  to  pay  taxes  aiul  be  happy:  a  sermon  [on  Eccle- 
siastes  ii.  14].  London,  1784,  4°.  Discourses  on  public  occasions: 
London,  1786,  8°.  Rights  of  English-men:  a7i  Antidote  to  the 
Poi.so/1  iioiv  vending  by  the  Tr a  cisatlantic  Rejniblican,  TJiomas 
Paine.  In  reply  to  his  W'himsical  Attacks  against  the  Constit/ufion 
and  Government  of  Great  Britain,  part  I.  London,  1791,  8°.  Of 
this  last  work,  no  more  seems  to  have  been  published.] 

12 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

with  Mrs.  Spencer,  a  sister  (I  think)  of  Sir  Richard 
Worsley/  and  a  delicious  little  old  woman,  the  delight 
of  all  the  children  of  her  acquaintance.  She  occupied 
at  one  time  a  small  house  which  belonged  to  her  in 
the  Paddington  Road,  and  in  the  front  garden  of 
which,  or  in  that  of  the  house  next  to  it  (I  forget 
which,  but  they  were  both  her  property),  stood  a 
beautiful  almond  tree,  not  long  since  cut  down.  Never 
shall  I  forget  the  enchanting  effect  which  the  bright 
green  rails  of  the  gardens  of  these  houses  used  to  have 
upon  me  when  I  caught  sight  of  them  in  going  there 
with  my  mother.  My  father  and  mother  took  breath 
in  the  meantime  under  the  friendly  roof  of  Mr.  West,^ 
the  painter,  who  had  married  her  aunt.  The  aunt  and 
niece  were  much  of  an  age,  and  both  fond  of  books. 
Mrs.  West,  indeed,  ultimately  became  a  martyr  to 
them,  for  the  physician  declared  that  she  lost  the  use 
of  her  limbs  by  sitting  indoors. 

From  Newman  Street  my  father  went  to  live  in 
Hampstead  Square,  whence  he  occasionally  used  to  go 
and  preach  at  Southgate.  The  then  Duke  of  Chandos^ 
had  a  seat  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Southgate.  He 
heard  my  father  preach,  and  was  so  pleased  with  him 
that  he  requested  him  to  become  tutor  to  his  nephew, 
Mr.  Leigh,  which  the  preacher  did,  and  he  remained 
with  his  Grace's  family  for  several  years.  The  Duke 
was  Master  of  the  Horse,  and  originated  the  famovis 
epithet  of  "  heaven-born  minister,"  applied  to  Mr.  Pitt. 
I  have  heard  my  father  describe  him  as  a  man  of  great 
sweetness  of  nature  and  good  breeding.  He  was  the 
grandson  of  Pope  and  Swift's  Duke  of  Chandos.  He 
died  in  1789,  and  left  a  widow,  who  survived  him  for 
several  years  in  a  state  of  mental  alienation.  I  men- 
tion this  circumstance  because  I  think  I  have  heard  it 


['  Sir  Richard  Worsley,  Governor  and  Historian  of  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  b.  1751,  d.  1805.] 

['^  Benjamin  West  (17.'}8  1820),  born  at  Springfield,  Pennsylvania. 
He  succeeded  Sir  .Toshua  Reynolds  as  President  of  the  Royal 
Academy  in  1791,  and  on  his  appointment  was  offered  a  knight- 
hood by  George  III.,  but  he  declined  it.] 

[*  James  Brydges,  third  and  last  Duke  of  Chandos  of  the  family 
of  Brydges.] 

13 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

said  in  our  family  that  her  derangement  was  owing  to 
a  piece  of  thoughtlessness,  the  notice  of  which  may- 
serve  as  a  caution.  She  was  a  woman  of  great  animal 
spirits,  and  happening  to  thrust  aside  the  Duke's  chair 
when  he  was  going  to  sit  down,  the  consequences  were 
such  that  being  extremely  attached  to  him  she  could 
never  forgive  herself,  but  lost  her  husband  and  senses 
at  once.  The  Duchess  had  already  been  married  to  a 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Elletson.  She  was  daughter 
of  Sir  Richard  Gamon  and  mother  of  an  heiress,  who 
carried  the  title  of  Chandos  into  the  Grenville  family. 

To  be  tutor  in  a  ducal  family  is  one  of  the  roads  to 
a  bishopric.  My  father  was  thought  to  be  in  the 
highest  way  to  it.  He  was  tutor  in  the  house  not  only 
of  a  duke,  but  of  a  state  officer,  for  whom  the  King 
had  a  personal  regard.  His  manners  were  of  the 
highest  order ;  his  principles  in  Church  and  State  as 
orthodox,  to  all  appearance,  as  could  be  wished ;  and 
he  had  given  up  flourishing  prospects  in  America  for 
their  sake.  But  the  same  ardent  and  disinterested 
sense  of  right  which  induced  him  to  make  that  sacrifice 
in  behalf  of  what  he  thought  due  to  his  Sovereign 
made  him  no  less  ready  to  take  the  part  of  any  one 
holding  opposite  opinions  whom  he  considered  to  be 
ill-used  ;  and  he  had  scarcely  set  his  foot  in  England 
when  he  so  distinguished  himself  among  his  brother 
loyalists  for  his  zeal  in  behalf  of  a  fellow-countryman 
Tvho  had  served  in  the  republican  armies  that  he  was 
given  to  understand  it  was  doing  him  no  service  at 
court. 

This  gentleman  was  the  distinguished  American 
artist,  Colonel  Trumbull.^  Mr.  Trumbull,  at  that  time 
a  young  man,  had  left  the  army  to  become  a  painter, 
to  which  end  he  had  crossed  the  Atlantic  and  was 
studying  under  Mr.  West.  The  Government,  suspect- 
ing him  to  be  a  spy,  arrested  him,  and  it  was  not 
without  exertions  extremely  creditable    to  Mr.   West 

['  John  Trumbull  (1756-1843)  was  Washington's  aide-de-camp  in 
the  revolutionary  war.  His  paintings  are  chiefly  historical,  and  the 
collection  of  his  pictures,  which  he  presented  to  Yale  College,  is 
known  as  the  Trumbull  Gallery.] 

14 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

himself  as  well  as  to  my  father  (for  the  future  Presi- 
dent of  the  Academy  was  then  commencing  his  own 
career  under  regal  patronage)  that  the  supposed 
dangerous  ex-officer  ^vas  set  free.  Mr.  Trumbull,  in 
his  memoirs,  has  recorded  his  obligations  to  both. 
Those  on  the  part  of  my  father,  as  a  loyalist,  he  pro- 
nounces to  have  been  not  only  perilous  but  vmique. 
He  says  in  a  letter  to  his  father.  Governor  Trumbull : — 

"Mr.  West,  who  has  been  very  much  my  friend, 
spoke  immediately  both  to  the  King  and  the  American 
secretary,  and  was  encouraged  by  both  to  expect  that  as 
soon  as  the  noise  should  have  subsided  a  little  I  should 
be  discharged.  However,  after  waiting  two  months, 
I  wrote  to  Lord  George  Germaine,  but  received  no 
answer.  Mr.  West,  at  the  same  time,  could  not  obtain 
a  second  interview^  w^ith  him.  In  February,  a  Mr, 
Hunt,  a  refugee  from  Philadelphia,  formerly  an  assist- 
ant to  Mr.  West "  (this  is  a  mistake,  my  father  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  painting),  "  conversing  with 
Mr.  West  on  the  subject,  was  so  far  convinced  of  the 
absurdity  and  injustice  of  the  treatment  I  had  received 
that  he  entered  warmly  into  my  interest,  and  with 
great  perseverance  urged  the  other  refugees  to  assist 
him  in  undeceiving  the  ministry,  and  gaining  my  dis- 
charge. Not  one,  however,  joined  him  ;  and  after  a 
fortnight's  solicitation,  he  w^as  told  by  Mr.  Thompson, 
Lord  George  Germaine's  secretary,  a  Woburn  lad,  that 
he  made  himself  very  busy  in  this  affair,  and  very  little 
to  his  own  reputation  ;  that  he  had  best  stop,  for  all  his 
applications  in  my  behalf  were  useless."  ^ 

And  again,  in  the  Appendix  to  the  same  work,  page 
319:— 

"  I  had  little  left  to  hope,  unless  from  some  favour- 
able turn  of  affairs  in  America.  An  effort  indeed  was 
made  through  Mr.  Hunt,  a  refugee  from  Philadelphia, 
upon  the  feeling  of  his  fellows,  which  does  honour  to 
him,  and  was  pushed  so  far  as  almost  to  endanger  his 

^  Autobiography ,  Reminiscences,  and  Letters  of  John  Trumbull, 
from  1756  to  1841.  New  York  and  London,  1841.  The  Thompson 
here  contemptuously  mentioned  as  "  a  Woburn  lad,"  was  after- 
wards the  celebrated  Count  Rumford. 

15 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

own  safety,  but  without  any  other  effect  than  showing 
the  detestable  rancour  which,  with  very  few  exceptions, 
is  the  common  mark  of  their  character." 

Mr.  Trumbull's  opinion  of  the  loyalists  in  general 
must  be  taken  ciun  (jrano  ;  for  though  he  appears  to 
have  been  an  estimable,  he  was  also  an  irritable,  man  ; 
but  this  does  not  diminish  the  honour  due  to  my 
father's  efforts.  There  can  be  little  doubt,  however, 
that  those  efforts  did  him  mischief  with  the  King, 
who,  not  knowing  him  so  well  as  he  did  Mr.  West, 
being  naturally  given  to  dislike  those  who  in  any 
respect  differed  with  him,  and  probably  having  been 
made  acquainted  with  some  indiscreet  evidence  of 
warmth  in  the  prosecution  of  his  endeavours  for  Mr. 
Trumbvill,  is  very  likely  to  have  conceived  an  impres- 
sion of  him  unfavourable  to  the  future  clergyman.  I 
know  not  how  soon,  too,  but  most  likely  before  long, 
my  father,  as  he  became  acquainted  with  the  Govern- 
ment, began  to  doubt  its  perfections ;  and  the  King, 
whose  minuteness  of  information  respecting  the  per- 
sonal affairs  of  his  subjects  is  well  known,  was  most 
likely  prepared  with  questions,  which  the  Duke  of 
Chandos  was  not  equally  prepared  to  answer. 

Meanwhile  the  honest  loyalist  was  getting  more  and 
more  distressed.  He  removed  to  Hampstead  a  second 
time  :  from  Hampstead  he  crossed  the  water ;  and  the 
first  room  I  have  any  recollection  of  is  one  in  a  prison. 
It  was  in  the  King's  Bench.  Here  w^as  the  game  of 
rackets,  giving  the  place  a  strange  lively  air  in  the 
midst  of  its  distresses  ;  here  I  first  heard,  to  my  aston- 
ishment and  horror,  a  verse  of  a  song,  sung  out,  as  he 
tottered  along,  by  a  drunken  man,  the  words  of  which 
appeared  to  me  unspeakably  wicked  :  and  here  I 
remember  well,  as  he  walked  up  and  down,  the  appear- 
ance of  a  prisoner  who  was  at  that  time  making  no 
little  noise  in  the  world,  and  who  was  veritably  wicked 
enough.  He  was  a  tall  thin  man,  in  a  cocked  hat,  had 
an  aquiline  nose,  and  altogether  appeared  to  my  child- 
ish eyes  a  strangely  inconsistent-looking  person  for  a 
man  of  his  character,  and  much  of  a  gentleman,  I 
have  an  impression  on  my  memory  that  I  was  told  he 

16 


« 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

had  run  n  needle  through  his  wife's  tongue.  This  was 
Andrew  Robinson  Stoney  Bowes,  Esq.,*  which  last  name 
he  had  assumed  on  his  marriage  with  the  Countess  of 
Strathmore,  for  cruel  treatment  of  whom  in  his  attempt 
to  extort  her  property  he  had  been  sentenced  to  an 
imprisonment  of  three  years.  His  surgeon  and  bio- 
grapher, Jesse  Foot,  in  summing  up  his  character,  says 
of  him,  that  he  was  "  cowardly,  insidious,  hypocritical, 
tyrannic,  mean,  violent,  selfish,  deceitful,  jealous, 
revengeful,  inhuman,  and  savage,  without  a  single 
countervailing  quality."  It  is  not  improbable  that  Mr. 
Foot  might  have  been  one  of  the  persons  he  deceived ; 
but  the  know^n  events  of  the  man's  life  really  go  far  to 
make  him  out  this  kind  of  monster  ;  and  Foot  sup- 
presses most  of  the  particulars  of  his  cruelty  as  too 
shocking  to  detail.  Ho  was  one  of  those  madmen  who  I 
are  too  conventionally  sane  to  be  locked  up,  but  who- 
appear  to  be  born  what  they  are  by  some  accident  ofi 
nature. 

Mr.  West  took  the  liberty  of  representing  my  father's 
circumstances  to  the  king.  It  is  well  known  that  this 
artist  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his  Majesty  in  no  ordi- 
nary degree.  The  king  would  converse  half  a  day  at  a 
time  with  him,  while  he  was  painting.  His  Majesty 
said  he  would  speak  to  the  bishops ;  and  again,  on  a 
second  application,  he  said  my  father  should  be  pro- 
vided for.  My  father  himself  also  presented  a  petition  ; 
but  all  that  was  ever  done  for  him,  was  the  putting  his 
name  on  the  Loyalist  Pension  List  for  a  hundred  a  year, 
— a  sum  which  he  not  only  thought  extremely  inade- 
quate for  the  loss  of  seven  or  eight  times  as  much  in 
America,  a  cheaper  country,  but  w^hich  he  felt  to  be  a 
poor  acknowledgment  even  for  the  active  zeal  which 
he  had  evinced,  and  the  things  which  he  had  said  and 
written ;  especially  as  the  pension  came  late,  and  his 
circumstances  were  already  involved.  Small  as  it  was, 
he  was  obliged  to  mortgage  it  ;     and  from  this  time 

I '  The  second  husband  of  Mary  Eleanor,  only  daughter  and  heiress 
of  John  Bowes,  whose  first  husband,  John,  ninth  Earl  of  Strathmore, 
also  assumed  the  name  of  Bowes.  This  extraordinary  character  is 
supposed  to  be  reproduced  in  Thackeray's  Barry  Lyndon.] 

17  c 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

till  the  arrival  of  some  relations  from  the  West  Indies, 
several  years  afterwards,  he  underwent  a  series  of  mor- 
tifications and  distresses,  not  always  without  reason 
for  self-reproach.  Unfortunately  for  others,  it  might 
be  said  of  him,  what  Lady  Mary  Wortley  said  of  her 
I  kinsman,  Henry  Fielding,  "  that  give  him  his  leg  of 
;  mutton  and  bottle  of  wine,  and  in  the  very  thick  of 
:  calamity  he  would  be  happy  for  the  time  being."  Too 
well  able  to  seize  a  passing  moment  of  enjoyment,  he 
was  always  scheming,  never  performing  ;  always  look- 
ing forward  with  some  romantic  plan  which  was  sure  to 
succeed,  and  never  put  in  practice.  I  believe  he  wrote 
more  titles  of  non-existing  books  than  Rabelais.  At 
length  he  found  his  mistake.  My  poor  father  !  He 
grew  deeply  acquainted  with  arrests,  and  began  to  lose 
his  graces  and  (from  failures  with  creditors)  his  good 
name.  He  became  irritable  with  the  consequences,  and 
almost  took  hope  of  better  days  out  of  the  heart  that 
loved  him,  and  was  too  often  glad  to  escape  out  of  its 
society.  Yet  such  an  art  had  he  of  making  his  home 
comfortable  when  he  chose,  and  of  settling  himself  to 
the  most  tranquil  pleasures,  that  if  she  could  have 
ceased  to  look  forward  about  her  children,  I  believe, 
with  all  his  defects,  those  evenings  would  have  brought 
unmingled  satisfaction  to  her,  when,  after  brightening 
the  fire  and  bringing  out  the  coffee,  my  mother  knew 
that  her  husband  was  going  to  read  Saurin  or  Barrow 
to  her,  with  his  fine  voice  and  unequivocal  enjoyment. 

We  thus  struggled  on  between  quiet  and  disturbance, 
between  placid  readings  and  frightful  knocks  at  the 
door,  and  sickness,  and  calamity,  and  hopes,  which 
hardly  ever  forsook  us.  One  of  my  brothers  went  to 
sea, — a  great  blow  to  my  poor  mother.  The  next  was 
articled  to  an  attorney.^  My  brother  Robert  became 
pupil  to  an  engraver,  and  my  brother  John  ^  was 
apprenticed  to  Mr.  Reynell,  the  printer,  whose  kindly 
manner,  and  deep  iron  voice,  I  well  remember  and  re- 
spect. I  had  also  a  regard  for  the  speaking  trumpet, 
which  ran  all  the  way  up  his  tall  house,  and  conveyed 
his  rugged  whispers  to  his  men.     And  his  goodly  wife, 

['  Stephen  Shewell  Hunt.]  [^  John  Hunt  (1775-1848).] 

18 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

proud  of  her  husband's  grandfather,  the  bishop  ;  never 
shall  I  forget  how^  much  I  loved  her  for  her  portly 
smiles  and  good  dinners,  and  how  often  she  used  to 
make  me  measure  heights  with  her  fair  daughter  Caro- 
line, and  found  me  wanting  ;  which  I  thought  not 
quite  so  hospitable. 

As  my  father's  misfortunes,  both  in  America  and 
England,  were  owing,  in  the  first  instance,  to  feelings 
the  most  worthy  and  disinterested,  so  they  were  never 
unaccompanied  with  manifestations  of  the  same  zeal 
for  others  in  smaller,  though  not  always  equally  justifi- 
able ways,  which  he  had  shown  in  the  greater.  He 
hampered  himself,  for  instance,  by  becoming  security 
for  other  people.  This,  however,  he  could  only  have 
done  out  of  his  usual  sanguine  belief  in  the  honesty  of 
those  whom  he  assisted  ;  for  of  collusion  with  anything 
deliberately  unworthy,  he  was  as  incapable  as  he  was 
trusting.  His  pen,  though  irregular,  or  unprofitable  to 
himself,  was  always  at  the  service  of  those  who 
required  it  for  memorials  or  other  helps.  As  to  his 
children,  he  was  healthy  and  sanguine,  and  always 
looked  forward  to  being  able  to  do  something  for  them ; 
and  something  for  them  he  did,  if  it  was  only  in  graft- 
ing his  animal  spirits  on  the  maternal  stock,  and 
setting  them  an  example  of  independent  thinking.  But 
he  did  more.  He  really  took  care,  considering  his 
unbusinesslike  habits,  towards  settling  them  in  some 
line  of  life.  It  is  our  faults,  not  his,  if  we  have  not 
been  all  so  successful  as  we  might  have  been :  at  least 
it  is  no  more  his  fault  than  that  of  the  West  Indian 
blood  of  which  we  all  partake,  and  which  has  disposed 
all  of  us,  more  or  less,  to  a  certain  aversion  from; 
business.  And  if  it  may  be  some  vanity  in  us,  at  least 
it  is  no  dishonour  to  our  turn  of  mind,  to  hope  that  we 
may  have  been  the  means  of  circulating  more  know- 
ledge and  entertainment  in  society,  than  if  he  had 
attained  the  bishopric  he  looked  for,  and  left  us 
ticketed  and  labelled  among  the  acquiescent. 

Towards  the  latter  part  of  his  life  my  father's  affairs 
were  greatly  retrieved  by  the  help  of  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Dayrell,  who  came  over  with  a  property   from  Bar- 

19 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

bados.  My  aunt  was  generous ;  part  of  her  property 
came  among  us  also  by  a  marriage  [moat  probably  of 
the  author's  eldest  brother  Stephen  Shewell  Hunt  with 
Christiana  Dayrell.  T.  H.].  My  father's  West  Indian  sun 
was  again  warm  upon  him.  On  his  sister's  death,  to  be 
sure,  his  struggles  recommenced,  though  not  at  all  in 
comparison  to  what  they  had  been.  Recommence, 
however,  they  did  ;  and  yet  so  sanguine  was  he  in  his 
intentions  to  the  last,  and  so  accustomed  had  my 
mother  been  to  try  to  believe  in  him,  and  to  persuade 
herself  she  did,  that  not  long  before  she  died  he  made 
the  most  solemn  promises  of  amendment,  which  by 
chance  I  could  not  help  overhearing,  and  which  she 
received  with  a  tenderness  and  a  tone  of  joy,  the 
remembrance  of  which  brings  the  tears  into  my  eyes. 
My  father  had  one  taste  well  suited  to  his  profession, 
and  in  him,  I  used  to  think,  remarkable.  He  was  very 
fond  of  sermons  ;  which  he  was  rarely  tired  of  reading, 
or  my  mother  of  hearing.  I  have  mentioned  the  effect 
which  these  used  to  have  upon  her.  When  she  died, 
he  could  not  bear  to  think  she  w^as  dead  ;  yet  retaining, 
in  the  midst  of  his  tears,  his  indestructible  tendency  to 
seize  on  a  cheering  reflection,  he  turned  his  very  de- 
spair into  consolation  ;  and  in  saying,  "  She  is  not  dead, 
but  sleeps,"  I  verily  believe  the  image  became  almost  a 
literal  thing  with  him.  Besides  his  fondness  for  ser- 
mons, he  was  a  great  reader  of  the  Bible.  His  copy  of 
it  is  scored  with  manuscript ;  and  I  believe  he  read  a 
portion  of  it  every  morning  to  the  last,  let  him  have 
been  as  satisfied  or  dissatisfied  with  himself  as  he  might 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  This  was  not  hypocrisy ;  it 
was  habit,  and  real  fondness  :  though,  while  he  was  no 
hypocrite,  he  was  not,  I  must  confess,  remarkable  for 
being  explicit  about  himself ;  nor  did  he  cease  to  dog- 
matize in  a  sort  of  official  manner  upon  faith  and 
virtue,  lenient  as  he  thought  himself  bound  to  be  to 
particular  instances  of  frailty.  To  young  people,  who 
had  no  secrets  from  him,  he  was  especially  indulgent, 
as  I  have  good  reason  to  know.  He  delighted  to 
show  his  sense  of  a  candour  in  others,  which  I  believe 
he  would  always  have  practised  himself,  had  he  been 

20 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

taught  it  early.  For  many  years  before  his  death  he  i 
had  greatly  relaxed  in  the  orthodoxy  of  his  religious  \ 
opinions.  Both  he  and  my  mother  had  become  Uni-  ; 
tarians.  They  were  also  Universalists,  and  great  :, 
admirers  of  Mr.  Winchester,  particularly  my  mother.^  i 
My  father  was  willing,  however,  to  hear  all  sides  of  the  ^ 
question,  and  used  to  visit  the  chapels  of  the  most 
popular  preachers  of  all  denominations.  His  favourite 
among  them,  I  think,  was  Mr.  Worthington,  who 
preached  at  a  chapel  in  Long  Acre,  and  had  a  strong 
natural  eloquence.  Politics  and  divinity  occupied 
almost  all  the  conversation  that  I  heard  at  our  fireside. 
It  is  a  pity  my  father  had  been  so  spoilt  a  child,  and 
had  strayed  so  much  out  of  his  sphere  ;  for  he  could  be 
contented  with  little.  He  was  one  of  the  last  of  the 
gentry  who  retained  the  old  fashion  of  smoking.  He 
indulged  in  it  every  night  before  he  went  to  bed,  which 
he  did  at  an  early  hour ;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  see 
him  sit,  in  his  tranquil  and  gentlemanly  manner,  and 
relate  anecdotes  of  "  my  Lord  North  "  and  the  Rocking- 
ham administration,  interspersed  with  those  mild  puffs 
and  urbane  resumptions  of  the  pipe.  How  often  have 
I  thought  of  him  under  this  aspect,  and  longed  for  the 
state  of  society  that  might  have  encouraged  him  to  be 
more  successful  !  Had  he  lived  twenty  years  longer 
he  would  have  thought  it  was  coming.  He  died  in  the 
year  1809,  aged  fifty-seven,  and  was  buried  in  the 
churchyard  in  Bishopsgate  Street.  I  remember  they 
quarrelled  over  his  coffin  for  the  perquisites  of  the 
candles ;  which  put  me  upon  a  great  many  reflections, 
both  on  him  and  on  the  world. 

I  bless  and  am  grateful  to  his  memory.  One  of  the 
last  sayings  of  the  last  surviving  of  his  children  but 
myself,  was  a  tribute  to  it  equally  simple  and  sincere. 

'  "  The  Universalists  cannot,  properly  speaking,  be  called  a  1 
distinct  sect,  as  they  are  frequently  found  scattered  amongst 
various  denominations.  They  are  so  named  from  holding  the 
benevolent  opinion  that  all  mankind,  nay,  even  the  demons  them- 
selves, will  be  finally  restored  to  happiness,  through  the  mercy  of 
Almighty  God." — History  of  all  Religions  and  Religiotts  Cere- 
monies, p.  263.  What  an  impiety  towards  "  Almighty  God,"  that 
anybody  could  ever  have  thought  the  reverse  ! 

21 


AlTOlUOCiKArHY     OF     LKIC.  11     HUNT 

"  What   a   kind  man.'   saiil    tny    brother   Kobert.    ''  he 
was  !  " 

My  jjrandtather.  by  n\y  mother's  side,  was  Stephen 
Shewell.  merchant  of  Philadelphia,  who  sent  out  his 
*■  arijosies.  "  His  mother  was  a  ipiaker.  and  he.  himself. 
I  boliovo,  descended  fri>m  a  quaker  stoek.  He  had 
ships  trading  to  England.  Holland,  and  the  West 
Indies,  and  used  to  put  his  sons  and  nephews  in  them 
as  eaptains.  For  sausai^fes  and  "  botargoes "  (tirst 
authors,  perhaps,  of  the  jaundice  iri  our  blood).  Friar 
John  woidd  have  recommended  him.  As  Chaucer 
siiys. 

'•  It  suewcii.   in  his  hoiiso.   of  meat  and  drink." 

On  that  side  of  the  family  we  seem  all  sailors  and 
rough  subjects,  with  a  mitigation  (on  the  female  part) 
of  Quakerism  :  as.  on  the  father's  side,  we  are  Creoles 
•and  claret -dritikers,  very  polite  and  clerical. 

My  grandmcuher's  n\aiilen  name  was  Bickley.  I 
believe  her  family  canie  trciiu  Buckinghatiishire.  The 
coat  of  arms  are  three  half  moons  ;  which  1  happen  to 
recollect,  because  of  a  traditiiin  we  had.  that  an 
honourable  augmentatioT\  was  made  to  them  of  three 
wheat -sheaves,  in  reward  of  some  gallant  achievement 
performed  in  cutting  ot¥  a  convoy  of  provisions  [by  Sir 
William  Bickley.  a  partisan  of  the  House  of  Orange, 
who  wiis  made  a  Banneret.  He  was  reputed  in  the 
family  to  have  been  the  last  Englishman  who  received 
the  title  of  a  Knight  Banneret,  by  receiving  Knight- 
hood from  the  royal  haiul.  on  the  tield.  T.  H.].  My 
grandmother  was  an  open-hearted,  cheerful  woman, 
of  a  good  healthy  blood.  The  family  consisted  of  live 
daughters  and  two  sons,  (.hie  of  the  daughters  died 
uinnarried  :  of  the  four  others,  three  are  dead  also; 
the  founli  still  lives,  iis  upright  in  her  carriage  as  when 
she  wtis  youTig,  and  the  intelligent  mother  of  two 
intelligent  daughters,  one  of  whom,  the  wife  of  Dr. 
Swift,  a  physician,  is  distinguished  for  her  talent  in 
writing  verses.  One  of  my  uncles  died  in  England,  ii 
mild,  excellent  creature,  more  tit  for  solitude  than  the 
sea.     The   other,  my   inu'le   Stephen,  a    tine   haTuisome 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

follow  of  great  j^ood  nature  and  f^allantry,  was  never 
lieard  of  aftoi"  leaving  tin;  jiort  of  l*hila<](iii)liia  for  the 
WoHt  IndioH.  JIo  iiad  a  practice  of  crowding  too  much 
sail,  whidi  is  HuppoH(;d  to  have  heen  h'lH  doHtruction. 
Th<!y  Hai<l  lie  <li<l  it  "  to  g<5t  ba(;k  to  Jiis  ladies." 

My  un<-l<!  was  tlie  rncsans  of  saving  his  nanuisake,  my 
brotluir  St(!i)h<jn,  from  a  singular  destiny.  SorrKs  Indians, 
who  carrui  into  the  city  to  traflic,  had  b(5en  observed  to 
notic(5  my  l)rother  a  good  deal.  It  is  sui)pos(;d  they  saw 
in  his  tall  little  person,  dark  fac(5  and  long  black  hair  a 
resemblances  to  themselv(!S.  OiUi  dny  they  enticed  hinn 
from  my  grand fath(;r's  house  in  Front  Street,  and  taking 
him  to  the  Delaware,  which  was  close  by,  were  carrying 
him  off  across  the  river,  when  his  uncle  d(5scried  them 
and  gave;  the  alarm.  His  threats  induced  them  to  come 
back  ;  oth<;i'wise,  it  is  thought,  they  intended  to  carry 
him  into  their  own  quarters,  and  bring  him  up  as  an 
Indian  ;  so  that,  inst(;ad  of  a  riiro  c^iaracter  of  another 
sort, — an  attorn(;y  who  would  rather  <5ompound  a  (juarrel 
foi'  his  (dicitits  than  get  rich  by  it, — we  might  have  had 
for  a  brother  the  Great  Buffalo,  Bloody  Jiear,  or  some 
such  grim  personage.  I  will  indulges  myself  with  the 
liberty  of  observing  in  this  place,  that  with  great  diver- 
sity of  chara(;ter  among  us,  with  strong  [)oints  of  dis- 
pute even  among  ourselves,  and  with  the  usual  amount, 
though  not  perhaps  exactly  the  like  nature,  of  infirmi- 
ties common  to  other  people, — some  of  us,  may  be,  with 
greater, — we  have  all  been  persons  who  inherited  the 
power  of  making  sac^rifices  for  the  sake  of  a  principle. 

My  grandfath(!r,  though  intimate  with  Dr.  Franklin, 
was  secretly  on  the  British  side  of  the  question  when 
the  American  war  broke  out.  He  professed  to  be  neu- 
tral, and  to  attend  only  to  business ;  but  his  n(;utrality 
did  not  avail  him.  One  of  his  most  valuably  laden 
shij)s  was  burnt  in  th(i  Delaware^  }>y  the  Revolutionists, 
to  j)revent  its  getting  into  the  hands  of  the  British  ; 
and  besides  making  free  with  his  botargoes,  they  de- 
spatched every  now  and  then  a  file  of  soldiers  to  rifle 
his  house  of  everything  else  that  could  be  serviceable  : 
linen,  blankets,  etc.  And  this,  unfortunately,  was  only 
a  taste  of  what  he  was  to  suffer  ;    for,  emptying  his 

23 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

mercantile  stores  from  time  to  time,  they  paid  himi 
with  their  coutinental  currency,  paper  money ;  the  de- 
preciation of  which  was  so  great  as  to  leave  him  at 
the  close  of  the  war  bankrupt  of  everything  but  some 
houses,  which  his  wife  brought  him  ;  they  amounted 
to  a  sufficiency  for  the  family  support :  and  thus,  after 
all  his  neutralities,  he  owed  all  that  he  retained  to  a 
generous  and  unspeculating  woman.  His  saving  grace, 
however,  was  not  on  all  occasions  confined  to  his  money. 
He  gave  a  strong  instance  of  his  partiality  to  the  British 
cause,  by  secreting  in  his  house  a  gentleman  of  the  name 
of  Slater,  w^ho  commanded  a  small  armed  vessel  on  the 
Delaware,  and  who  was  not  long  since  residing  in  Lon- 
don. Mr.  Slater  had  been  taken  prisoner,  and  confined 
at  some  miles'  distance  from  Philadelphia.  He  contrived 
to  make  his  escape,  and  astonished  my  grandfather's 
family  by  appearing  before  them  at  night,  drenched  in 
the  rain,  which  descends  in  torrents  in  that  climate. 
They  secreted  him  for  several  months  in  a  room  at  the 
top  of  the  house. 

My  mother  at  that  time  was  a  brunette  with  fine 
eyes,  a  tall  ladylike  person,  and  hair  blacker  than  is 
seen  of  English  growth.  It  was  supposed  that  Anglo- 
Americans  already  began  to  exhibit  the  influence  of 
climate  in  their  appearance.  The  late  Mr.  West  told 
me  that  if  he  had  met  myself  or  any  of  my  brothers 
in  the  streets  he  should  have  pronounced,  without 
knowing  us,  that  we  were  Americans.  My  mother  had 
no  accomplishments  but  the  two  best  of  all,  a  love  of 
nature  and  of  books.  Dr.  Franklin  offered  to  teach 
her  the  guitar ;  but  she  was  too  bashful  to  become  his 
pupil.  She  regretted  this  afterwards,  partly  no  doubt 
for  having  lost  so  illustrious  a  master.  Her  first  child, 
who  died,  was  named  after  him.  I  know^  not  whether 
the  anecdote  is  new,  but  I  have  heard  that  w^hen  Dr. 
Franklin  invented  the  Harmonica,  he  concealed  it  from 
his  wife  till  the  instrument  was  fit  to  play,  and  then 
woke  her  with  it  one  night,  when  she  took  it  for  the 
nausic  of  angels.  Among  the  visitors  at  my  grand- 
father's house,  besides  Franklin,  was  Thomas  Paine ; 
whom  I  have  heard  my  mother  speak  of,  as  having  a 

24 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

countenance  that  inspired  her  with  terror.     I  believe 
his  aspect  was  not  captivating ;    but  most  likely  his 
political  and  religious  opinions  did  it  no  good  in  the  ^ 
eyes  of  the  fair  loyalist.  I 

My  mother  was  diffident  of  her  personal  merit,  but 
she  had  great  energy  of  principle.  When  the  troubles 
broke  out,  and  my  father  took  that  violent  part  in 
favour  of  the  king,  a  letter  was  received  by  her  from 
a  person  high  in  authority,  stating,  that  if  her  husband 
would  desist  from  opposition  to  the  general  wishes  of 
the  colonists,  he  should  remain  in  security  ;  but  that  if 
he  thought  fit  to  do  otherwise,  he  must  suffer  the  con- 
sequences which  awaited  him.  The  letter  concluded 
with  advising  her,  as  she  valued  her  husband's  and 
family's  happiness,  to  use  her  influence  with  him  to 
act  accordingly.  To  this,  "  in  the  spirit  of  old  Rome 
and  Greece,"  as  one  of  her  sons  has  proudly  and  justly 
observed  (I  will  add,  of  Old  England,  and,  though  con- 
trary to  our  royalist  opinions,  of  New  America,  too),  my 
mother  replied,  that  she  knew  her  husband's  mind  too 
well  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  he  would  so  degrade 
himself ;  and  that  the  writer  of  the  letter  entirely  mis- 
took her,  if  he  thought  her  capable  of  endeavouring  to 
persuade  him  to  an  action  contrary  to  the  convictions 
of  his  heart,  whatever  the  consequences  threatened 
might  be.  Yet  the  heart  of  this  excellent  woman, 
strong  as  it  was,  was  already  beating  with  anxiety 
for  what  might  occur  ;  and  on  the  day  when  my 
father  was  seized,  she  fell  into  a  fit  of  the  jaundice, 
so  violent  as  to  affect  her  ever  afterwards,  and  sub- 
ject a  previously  fine  constitution  to  every  ill  that 
came  across  it. 

It  was  nearly  two  years  before  my  mother  could  set 
off  with  her  children  for  England.  She  embarked  in 
the  Earl  of  Effingham  frigate.  Captain  Dempster,  who, 
from  the  moment  she  was  drawn  up  the  sides  of  the 
vessel  with  her  little  boys,  conceived  a  pity  and  respect 
for  her,  and  paid  her  the  most  cordial  attention.  In 
truth  he  felt  more  pity  for  her  than  he  chose  to  ex- 
press ;  for  the  vessel  was  old  and  battered,  and  he 
thought  the  voyage  not  without  danger.     Nor  was  it. 

25 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

They  did  very  well  till  they  came  off  the  Scilly  Islands, 
\vh(ni  a  storm  arose  which  threatened  to  sink  them. 
The  ship  was  w^ith  difficulty  kept  above  water.  Here 
my  mother  again  showed  how  courageous  her  heart 
could  be,  by  the  very  strength  of  its  tenderness.  There 
was  a  lady  in  the  vessel  who  had  betrayed  w^eaknesses 
of  various  sorts  during  the  voyage ;  and  who  even  went 
so  far  as  to  resent  the  superior  opinion  w^hich  the  gal- 
lant captain  could  not  help  entertaining  of  her  fellow- 
passenger.  My  mother,  instead  of  giving  way  to  tears 
and  lamentations,  did  all  she  could  to  keep  up  the 
spirits  of  her  children.  The  lady  in  question  did  the 
reverse ;  and  my  mother  feeling  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  and  touched  with  pity  for  children  in  the  same 
danger  as  her  ow^n,  was  at  length  moved  to  break 
through  the  delicacy  she  had  observed,  and  expostulate 
strongly  with  her,  to  the  increased  admiration  of  the 
captain,  who  congratulated  himself  on  having  a  female 
passenger  so  truly  worthy  of  the  name  of  woman. 
Many  years  afterwards,  near  the  same  spot,  and  during 
a  similar  danger,  her  son,  the  writer  of  this  book,  with 
a  wife  and  seven  children  around  him,  had  occasion  to 
call  her  to  mind  ;  and  the  example  w^as  of  service  even 
to  him,  a  man.^  It  was  thought  a  miracle  that  the  Earl 
of  Effingham  was  saved.  It  was  driven  into  Swansea 
Bay,  and  borne  along  by  the  heaving  might  of  the 
waves  into  a  shallow,  where  no  vessel  of  so  large  a  size 
ever  appeared  before  ;  nor  could  it  ever  have  got  there, 
but  by  so  unwonted  an  overlifting. 

Having  been  born  nine  years  later  than  the  youngest 
of  my  brothers,  I  have  no  recollection  of  my  mother's 
earlier  aspect.  Her  eyes  were  alw^ays  fine,  and  her 
person  lady-like  ;  her  hair  also  retained  its  colour  for 
a  long  period  ;  but  her  brown  complexion  had  been 
exchanged  for  a  jaundiced  one,  which  she  retained 
through  life  ;  and  her  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  her 
mouth  drawn  down  with  sorrow  at  the  corners.  She 
retained  the  energy  of  her  character  on  great  occa- 
sions ;   but  her  spirit  in  ordinary  w^as  weakened,  and 

['  Leigh  Hunt  is  referring  to  his  unfortunate  voyage  to  Italy  in 
November  and  December,  1821,  see  post,  chapter  xvii.) 

26 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

she  looked  at  the  bustle  and  discord  of  the  present 
state  of  society  with  a  frightened  aversion.  My 
father's  danger,  and  the  war-whoops  of  the  Indians 
which  she  heard  in  Philadelphia,  had  shaken  her  soul 
as  well  as  frame.  The  sight  of  two  men  fighting  in 
the  streets  would  drive  her  in  tears  down  another 
road ;  and  I  remember,  when  we  lived  near  the  park, 
she  would  take  me  a  long  circuit  out  of  the  way  rather 
than  hazard  the  spectacle  of  the  soldiers.  Little  did 
she  think  of  the  timidity  w^ith  which  she  was  thus 
inoculating  me,  and  what  difficulty  I  should  have, 
when  I  went  to  school,  to  sustain  all  those  fine 
theories,  and  that  unbending  resistance  to  oppression, 
which  she  inculcated.  However,  perhaps  it  ultimately 
turned  out  for  the  best.  One  must  feel  more  than 
usual  for  the  sore  places  of  humanity,  even  to  fight 
properly  in  their  behalf.  Never  shall  I  forget  her  face, 
as  it  used  to  appear  to  me  coming  up  the  cloisters,  with 
that  w^eary  hang  of  the  head  on  one  side,  and  that 
melancholy  smile  ! 

One  holiday,  in  a  severe  winter,  as  she  was  taking  me 
home,  she  was  petitioned  for  charity  by  a  woman  sick 
and  ill- clothed.  It  was  in  Blackfriars'  Road,  I  think 
about  midway.  My  mother,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes, 
turned  up  a  gateway,  or  some  such  place,  and  beckoning 
the  woman  to  follow,  took  off  her  flannel  petticoat,  and 
gave  it  her.  It  is  supposed  that  a  cold  which  ensued, 
fixed  the  rheumatism  upon  her  to  life.  Actions  like 
these  have  doubtless  been  often  performed,  and  do  not 
of  necessity  imply  any  great  virtue  in  the  performer ; 
but  they  do  if  they  are  of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  the 
character.  Saints  have  been  made  for  charities  no 
greater. 

The  reader  will  allow  me  to  quote  a  passage  out  of  a 
poem  of  mine,  because  it  was  suggested  by  a  recollec- 
tion I  had  upon  me  of  this  excellent  woman.  It  is 
almost  the  only  passage  in  that  poem  worth  repeating, 
which  I  mention,  in  order  that  he  may  lay  the  quotation 
to  its  right  account,  and  not  suppose  I  am  anxious  to 
repeat  my  verses  because  I  fancy  they  must  be  good. 
In  everything  but  the  word   "  happy,"  the  picture  is 

27 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

from  life.     The  bird    spoken  of   is    the    nightingale — 
the 

"  Bird  of  wakeful  glow, 
Wlioso  louder  song  is  like  the  voice  of  life, 
Ti'iiiinphant  o'er  death's  image  ;  but  whose  deep. 
Low,  lovelier  note  is  like  a  gentle  wife, 
A  pool',  a  pensive,  yet  a  happy  one, 
Stealing,  when  daylight's  common  tasks  are  done, 
An  hour  for  mother's  work  ;  and  singing  low. 
While  her  tired  husband  and  her  children  sleep." 

I  liave  spoken  of  my  mother  during  my  father's 
troubles  in  England.  She  stood  by  him  through  them 
all ;  and  in  everything  did  more  honour  to  marriage, 
than  marriage  did  good  to  either  of  them  :  for  it 
brought  little  happiness  to  her,  and  too  many  children 
to  both.  Of  his  changes  of  opinion,  as  well  as  of  for- 
tune, she  partook  also.  She  became  a  Unitarian,  a 
Universalist,  perhaps  a  Republican  ;  and  in  her  new 
opinions,  as  in  her  old,  was  apt,  I  suspect,  to  be  a  little 
too  peremptory,  and  to  wonder  at  those  who  could  be  of 
the  other  side.  It  was  her  only  fault.  She  would  have 
mended  it  had  she  lived  till  now.  Though  not  a  re- 
publican myself,  I  have  been  thought,  in  my  time,  to 
speak  too  severely  of  kings  and  princes.  I  think  I  did, 
and  that  society  is  no  longer  to  be  bettered  in  that  man- 
ner, but  in  a  much  calmer  and  nobler  way.  But  I  was 
a  witness,  in  my  childhood,  to  a  great  deal  of  suffering  ; 
I  heard  of  more  all  over  the  world  ;  and  kings  and 
princes  bore  a  great  share  in  the  causes  to  which  they 
were  traced. 

Some  of  those  causes  were  not  to  be  denied.  It  is 
now  understood,  on  all  hands,  that  the  continuation  of 
the  American  war  was  owing  to  the  personal  stubborn- 
ness of  the  king.  My  mother,  in  her  indignation  at  him 
for  being  the  cause  of  so  much  unnecessary  bloodshed, 
thought  that  the  unfortunate  malady  into  which  he  fell 
was  a  judgment  of  Providence. 

My  mother's  intolerance,  after  all,  was  only  in  theory. 
When  anything  was  to  be  done,  charity  in  her  always 
ran  before  faith.  If  she  could  have  served  and  benefited 
the  king  himself  personally,  indignation  would  soon  have 
given  way  to  humanity.  She  had  a  high  opinion  of  every- 

28 


THE    AUTHOR'S    PROGENITORS 

thing  that  was  decorous  and  feminine  on  the  part  of  a'; 
wife  ;  yet  w^hen  a  poor  violent  woman,  the  wife  of  an' 
amiable  and  eloquent  preacher,  went  so  far  on  one  occa- 
sion as  to  bite  his  hand  in  a  fit  of  jealous  rage  as  he  was 
going  to  ascend  his  pulpit  (and  he  preached  in  great 
pain),  my  mother  was  the  only  female  of  her  acquaint- 
ance that  continued  to  visit  her  ;  alleging  that  she 
needed  society  and  comfort  so  much  the  more.  She  had 
the  highest  notions  of  chastity ;  yet  when  a  servant  came 
to  her,  who  could  get  no  place  because  she  had  had  an 
illegitimate  child,  my  mother  took  her  into  her  family 
upon  the  strength  of  her  candour  and  her  destitute  con- 
dition, and  was  served  during  the  remainder  of  the 
mistress's  life  with  affectionate  gratitude. 

My  mother's  favourite  books  were  Dr.  Young's  Night 
Thoughts  (which  was  a  pity),  and  Mrs.  Rowe's  Devout 
Exercises  of  the  Heart.  I  remember  also  her  expressing 
great  admiration  of  the  novels  of  Mrs.  Inchbald,  especi- 
ally the  Simple  Story.  She  was  very  fond  of  poetry,  and 
used  to  hoard  my  verses  in  her  pocket-book,  and  en- 
courage me  to  write,  by  showing  them  to  the  Wests 
and  the  Thorntons.  Her  friends  loved  and  honoured 
her  to  the  last :  and,  I  believe,  they  retained  their 
regard  for  the  family. 

My  mother's  last  illness  was  long,  and  was  tormented 
with  rheumatism.  I  envied  my  brother  Robert  the 
recollection  of  the  filial  attentions  he  paid  her  ;  but 
they  shall  be  as  much  known  as  I  can  make  them,  not 
because  he  was  my  brother  (which  is  nothing),  but  be- 
cause he  was  a  good  son,  which  is  much  ;  and  every 
good  son  and  mother  will  be  my  warrant.  My  other 
brothers,  w^ho  were  married,  were  away  with  their 
families ;  and  I,  who  ought  to  have  attended  more,  was 
as  giddy  as  I  was  young,  or  rather  a  great  deal  more  so. 
I  attended,  but  not  enough.  How  often  have  we  occa- 
sion to  w^ish  that  we  could  be  older  or  younger  than  we 
are,  according  as  we  desire  to  have  the  benefit  of  gaiety 
or  experience  !  Her  greatest  pleasure  during  her  decay 
was  to  lie  on  a  sofa,  looking  at  the  setting  sun.  She 
used  to  liken  it  to  the  door  of  heaven,  and  fancy  her 
lost  children  there,  w^aiting  for  her.     She  died  in  the 

29 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

tifty-third  year  of  her  age,  in  a  little  miniature  house 
which  staiuls  in  a  row  behind  the  church  that  has  been 
since  built  in  Somerstown  ;  and  she  was  buried,  as 
she  had  always  wished  to  be,  in  the  churchyard  of 
Hampstead. 


CHAPTER    II 

CHILDHOOD 

[1784—1792] 

I  HAVE  spoken  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos,  to  whose 
nephew,  Mr.  Leigh, ^  my  father  became  tutor.  Mr. 
Leigh,  who  gave  me  his  name,  was  son  of  the  duke's 
sister.  Lady  Caroline,  and  died  member  of  parliament. 
He  was  one  of  the  kindest  and  gentlest  of  men,  addicted 
to  those  tastes  for  poetry  and  sequestered  pleasure, 
which  w^ere  conspicuous  in  his  son,  Lord  Leigh  ;  for  all 
which  reasons  it  would  seem,  and  contrary  to  the 
usurping  qualities  in  such  cases  made  and  provided,  he 
and  his  family  were  subjected  to  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary charges  that  a  defeated  claim  ever  brought 
drunken  witnesses  to  set  up  ;  no  less  than  the  murder 
and  burial  of  a  set  of  masons,  who  were  employed  in 
building  a  bridge,  and  whose  destruction  in  the  act  of 
so  doing  was  to  bury  both  them  and  a  monument  which 
they  knew  of  for  ever  !  To  complete  the  romance  of 
the  tragedy,  a  lady,  the  wife  of  the  usurper,  presides 
over  the  catastrophe.  She  cries,  "  Let  go  !  "  while 
the  poor  wretches  are  raising  a  stone  at  night-time, 
amidst  a  scene  of  torches  and  seclusion  ;  and  down  goes 
the  stone,  aided  by  this  tremendous  father  and  son,  and 
crushes  the  victims  of  her  ambition  !  She  meant,  as 
Cowley  says  Goliath  did  of  David, 

"  At  once  their  murder  and  their  monument." 

If  a  charge  of  the  most  awful  crimes  could  be  dug  up 

['  The  Hon,  James  Henry  Leigh.] 
30 


CHILDHOOD 

against  the  memories  of  such  men  as  Thomson  and 
Shenstone,  or  of  Cowley,  or  Cowper,  or  the  "  Man  of 
Ross,"  it  could  not  have  created  more  laughing  astonish- 
ment in  the  minds  of  those  who  knew  them,  than  such 
a  charge  against  the  family  of  the  Leighs.  Its  late 
representative  in  the  notes  to  his  volume  of  poems, 
printed  some  years  ago,  quoted  the  "following  beautiful 
passage  "  out  of  Fielding  : — 

"  It  was  the  middle  of  May,  and  the  morning  was 
remarkably  serene,  when  Mr.  Allworthy  walked  forth 
on  the  terrace,  where  the  dawn  opened  every  minute 
that  lovely  prospect  we  have  before  described,  to  his 
eye.  And  now  having  sent  forth  streams  of  light 
which  ascended  to  the  firmament  before  him,  as  har- 
bingers preceding  his  pomp,  in  the  full  blaze  of  his 
majesty  up  rose  the  sun  ;  than  w^hich  one  object  alone 
in  this  lower  creation  could  be  more  glorious,  and  that 
Mr.  Allworthy  himself  presented  ;  a  human  being 
replete  with  benevolence,  meditating  in  what  manner 
he  might  render  himself  most  acceptable  to  his  Creator 
by  doing  most  good  to  his  creatures." 

"  This,"  adds  the  quoter,  "  is  the  portrait  of  a  fictitious 
personage ;  but  I  see  in  it  a  close  resemblance  to  one 
whose  memory  I  shall  never  cease  to  venerate." 

The  allusion  is  to  his  father,  Mr.  Leigh. 

But  I  must  not  anticipate  the  verdict  of  a  court  of 
justice.^  Indeed,  I  should  have  begged  pardon  of  my 
noble  friend  for  speaking  of  this  preposterous  accusa- 
tion, did  not  the  very  excess  of  it  force  the  words  from 
my  pen,  and  were  I  not  sure  that  my  own  father  would 
have  expected  them  from  me,  had  he  been  alive  to  hear 
it.  His  lordship  must  accept  them  as  an  effusion  of 
grateful  sympathy  from  one  father  and  son  to  another. 

Lord  Leigh  has  written  many  a  tender  and  thought- 
ful verse,  in  which,  next  to  the  domestic  affections  and 
the  progress  of  human  kind,  he  shows  that  he  loves 
above  all  things  the  beauties  of  external  nature,  and 
the  tranquil  pleasures  they  suggest. 

'  The  verdict  was  subsequently  given.  It  almost  seemed  ridicu- 
lous, it  was  so  unnecessary  ;  except,  indeed,  as  a  caution  to  the  like 
of  those  whom  it  punished. 

31 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

So  much  do  I  agree  with  him,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
nio  to  know  that  I  was  even  born  in  so  sweet  a  village 
as  Southgato.  I  first  saw  the  light  there  on  the  19th  of 
October,  1784.*  It  found  me  cradled,  not  only  in  the 
lap  of  the  nature  which  I  love,  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
truly  English  scenery  which  I  love  beyond  all  other. 
Middlesex  in  general,  like  my  noble  friend's  county  of 
Warwickshire,  is  a  scene  of  trees  and  meadows,  of 
"  greenery  "  and  nestling  cottages  ;  and  Southgate  is  a 
prime  specimen  of  Middlesex.  It  is  a  place  lying  out  of 
the  way  of  innovation,  therefore  it  has  the  pure,  sweet 
air  of  antiquity  about  it ;  and  as  I  am  fond  of  local 
researches  in  any  quarter,  it  may  be  pardoned  me  if  in 
this  instance  I  would  fain  know  even  the  meaning  of 
its  name.  There  is  no  Northgate,  Eastgate,  or  West- 
gate  in  Middlesex  ;  what,  then,  is  Southgate  ?  No  topo- 
grapher tells  us  ;  but  an  old  map  of  the  country  twenty- 
five  miles  round  London,  drawn  up  some  years  previous 
to  my  childhood,  is  now  before  me  ;  and  on  looking  at 
the  boundaries  of  Enfield  Chase,  I  see  that  the  "  Chase- 
gate,"  the  name  most  likely  of  the  principal  entrance, 
is  on  the  north  side  of  it,  by  North-Hall  and  Potter's 
Bar  ;  while  Southgate,  which  has  also  the  name  of 
"  South  Street,"  is  on  the  Chase's  opposite  border ;  so 
that  it  seems  evident,  that  Southgate  meant  the  south- 
ern entrance  into  the  chase,  and  that  the  name  became 
that  of  a  village  from  the  growth  of  a  street.  The 
street,  in  all  probability,  was  the  consequence  of  a  fair 
held  in  a  wood  which  ran  on  the  western  side  of  it,  and 
iwhich,  in  the  map,  is  designated  "  Bush  Fair."  Bush, 
in  old  English,  meant  not  only  a  hedge,  but  a  wood ;  as 

?o^s  or  Bosco  does  in  French  and  Italian.     Moses  and 
the  "  burning  bush  "  is  Moses  and  the  "  burning  wood  ;" 

^hich,  by  the  way,  presents  a  much  grander  idea  than 
the   modicum   of   hedge    commonly   assigned    to    the 


['  At  a  house  called  Eagle  Hall.  As  he  says  above,  he  was  the 
youngest  of  the  family.  He  was  given  the  name  of  James  Henry 
Leigh.  Lord  Palmerston  was  born  on  the  following  day.  On  the 
form  for  admission  to  Christ's  Hospital,  it  is  stated  that  Hunt  was 
baptized  on  October  30,  1791 ;  that  is,  after  the  date  of  the  petition 
{see  p.  56),] 

32 


CHILDHOOD 

celestial  apparition.  There  is  a  good  deal  more  wood 
in  the  map  than  is  now  to  be  found.  I  wander  in 
imagination  through  the  spots  marked  in  the  neigh-< 
bourhood,  with  their  pleasant  names — Woodside,  Wood 
Green,  Palmer  Green,  Nightingale  Hall,  etc.,  and  fancy 
my  father  and  mother  listening  to  the  nightingales,  and 
loving  the  new  little  baby,  who  has  now  lived  to  see 
more  years  than  they  did. 

Southgate  lies  in  a  cross-country  road,  running  from 
Edmonton  through  Enfield  Chase  into  Hertfordshire. 
It  is  in  the  parish  of  Edmonton ;  so  that  we  may  fancy 
the  Merry  Devil  ^  of  that  place  still  playing  his  pranks 
hereabouts,  and  helping  innocent  lovers  to  a  wedding, 
as  in  the  sweet  little  play  attributed  to  Dryden.  For 
as  to  any  such  devils  going  to  a  place  less  harmonious, 
it  is  not  to  be  thought  possible  by  good  Christians. 
Furthermore,  to  show  what  classical  ground  is  round 
about  Southgate,  and  how  it  is  associated  with  the  best 
days  of  English  genius,  both  old  and  new,  Edmonton  is 
the  birthplace  of  Marlowe,^  the  father  of  our  drama,  and 
of  my  friend  Horne,^  his  congenial  celebrator.  In  Ed| 
monton  churchyard  lies  Charles  Lamb  ;  in  Highgate 
churchyard,  Coleridge  ;  and  in  Hampstead  have  resided 
Shelley  and  Keats,  to  say  nothing  of  Akenside  befor© 
them,  and  of  Steele,  Arbuthnot,  and  others,  before 
Akenside. 

But  the  neighbourhood  is  dear  to  me  on  every 
account ;  for  near  Southgate  is  Colney  Hatch,  where 
my  mother  became  acquainted  with  some  of  her  dearest 
friends,  whom  I  shall  mention  by-and-by.    Near  Colney 

[*  The  Life  and  Death  of  the  Mefry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  etc.,  is 
supposed  to  have  been  written  by  Thomas  Brewer  (fl.  1624),  although 
it  has  been  ascribed  by  some  to  Anthony  Brewer.  This  play  was 
entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  on  April  3,  1608,  and  there  is  a  copy  in 
the  British  Museum  bearing  the  date  of  1617.  It  therefore  could  not 
have  been  written  by  Dryden  as  Hunt  suggests.  Michael  Drayton 
has  been  suggested  by  some  as  the  author  of  this  play,  and  it  is  not 
unlikely  Leigh  Hunt  confused  his  name  with  that  of  the  later 
dramatist.  ] 

[2  This  of  course  is  a  slip  of  Hunt's ;  Christopher  Marlowe  (1564- 
1593)  was  born  at  Canterbury.] 

[■*  Richard  Henry,  or  Hengist,  Home  (1803-1884),  the  author  of 
The  Death  of  Marlowe,  1837.] 

33  D 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Hatch  is  Finchley,  where  our  family  resided  on  quitting 
Sduthjj^ato  ;  and  at  no  groat  distance  from  Finchley  is 
Mill  Hill,  where  lived  excellent  Dr.  W.  M.  Trinder,  Vicar 
of  Hendon,  who  presented  in  his  person  the  rare  com- 
bination of  clergyman  and  physician.  He  boasted  that 
he  had  cured  a  little  child  (to  wit,  myself)  of  a  dropsy 
in  the  head.  The  fact  was  contested,  I  believe,  by 
the  lay  part  of  the  profession ;  but  it  was  believed  in 
the  family,  and  their  love  for  the  good  doctor  was 
boundless. 

I  may  call  myself,  in  every  sense  of  the  w^ord,  ety- 
mological not  excepted,  a  son  of  mirth  and  melancholy ; 
for  my  father's  Christian  name  (as  old  students  of  ono- 
mancy  would  have  heard  with  serious  faces)  was  Isaac, 
which  is  Hebrew  for  "  laughter,"  and  my  mother's  was 
Mary,  w^hich  comes  from  a  word  in  the  same  language 
signifying  "  bitterness."  And,  indeed,  as  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  ever  seen  my  mother  smile,  ex- 
cept in  sorrowful  tenderness,  so  my  father's  shouts  of 
laughter  are  now^  ringing  in  my  ears.  Not  at  any  ex- 
pense to  her  gravity,  for  he  loved  her,  and  thought  her 
an  angel  on  earth ;  but  because  his  animal  spirits  were 
invincible.  I  inherit  from  my  mother  a  tendency  to 
jaundice,  Tvhich  at  times  has  made  me  melancholy 
enough.  I  doubt,  indeed,  whether  I  have  passed  a  day 
during  half  my  life,  w^ithout  reflections,  the  first  germs 
of  which  are  traceable  to  sufferings  which  this  tendency 
once  cost  me.  My  prevailing  temperament,  neverthe- 
less, is  my  father's  ;  and  it  has  not  only  enabled  me  to 
turn  those  reflections  into  sources  of  tranquillity  and 
exaltation,  but  helped  my  love  of  my  mother's  memory 
to  take  a  sort  of  pride  in  the  infirmity  which  she  be- 
queathed me. 

I  forget  whether  it  was  Dr.  Trinder — for  some  pur- 
pose of  care  and  caution — but  somebody  told  my 
mother  (and  she  believed  it),  that  if  I  survived  to  the 
age  of  fifteen  I  might  turn  out  to  possess  a  more  than 
average  amount  of  intellect ;  but  that  otherwise  I  stood  a 
chance  of  dying  an  idiot.  The  reader  may  imagine  the 
anxiety  which  this  information  would  give  to  a  tender 
mother.     Not  a  syllable  of  course  did  she  breathe  to  me 

34 


CHILDHOOD 

on  the  subject  till  the  danger  was  long  past,  and  doubly 
did  I  then  become  sensible  of  all  the  marks  of  affection 
which  I  called  to  mind  ;  of  the  unusual  things  which  she 
had  done  for  me  ;  of  the  neglect,  alas  !  which  they  had  too 
often  experienced  from  me,  though  not  to  her  know- 
ledge ;  and  of  the  mixture  of  tenderness  and  anxiety 
which  I  had  always  noted  in  her  face.  I  was  the 
youngest  and  least  robust  of  her  sons,  and  during  early 
childhood  I  used  hardly  to  recover  from  one  illness 
before  I  was  seized  with  another.  The  doctor  said  I 
must  have  gone  through  an  extraordinary  amount  of 
suffering.  I  have  sometimes  been  led  to  consider  this 
as  the  first  layer  of  that  accumulated  patience  with 
which,  in  after  life,  I  had  occasion  to  fortify  myself  ; 
and  the  supposition  has  given  rise  to  many  consolatory 
reflections  on  the  subject  of  endurance  in  general. 

To  assist  my  recovery  from  one  of  these  illnesses,  I 
was  taken  to  the  coast  of  France,  where,  as  usual,  I  fell 
into  another ;  and  one  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  of 
a  good-natured  French  woman,  the  mistress  of  the  lodg- 
ing-house at  Calais,  who  cried  over  the  "  poore  littel 
boy,"  because  I  was  a  heretic.  She  thought  I  should 
go  to  the  devil.  Poor  soul !  What  torments  must  the 
good-hearted  woman  have  undergone  ;  and  what  pleasl 
ant  pastime  it  is  for  certain  of  her  loud  and  learned 
inferiors  to  preach  such  doctrines,  careless  of  the 
injuries  they  inflict,  or  even  hoping  to  inflict  them  for  the 
sake  of  some  fine  deity-degrading  lesson,  of  which  their 
sordid  imaginations  and  splenetic  itch  of  dictation 
assume  the  necessity.  It  w^as  lucky  for  me  that  our 
hostess  w^as  a  gentle,  not  a  violent  bigot,  and  susceptible 
at  her  heart  of  those  better  notions  of  God  w^hich  are  in- 
stinctive in  the  best  natures.  She  might  otherwise 
have  treated  me,  as  a  late  traveller  says,  infants  have 
been  treated  by  Catholic  nurses,  and  murdered  in  order 
to  save  me.^ 

In  returning  from  the  coast  of  France,  w^e  stopped  at ; 
Deal,  and  I  found  myself,  one  evening,  standing  with  an  I 
elder  brother  on  the  beach,  looking  at  a  shoal  of  por-  | 
poises,  creatures  of  which  he  had  given  me  some  tre- 

'  Letters  from  the  Bye-tvays  of  Italy.      By  Mrs.  Henry  Stisted. 

35 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

niondous,  mysterious  notion.  I  remember,  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  feeling  the  shades  of  evening,  and  the  solem- 
nity of  the  spectacle,  with  an  awful  intensity.  There 
they  were,  tumbling  along  in  the  foam,  what  exactly  I 
knew  not,  but  fearful  creatures  of  some  sort.  My 
brother  spoke  to  me  of  them  in  an  under  tone  of  voice, 
and  I  held  my  breath  as  I  looked.  The  very  word 
"porpoise"  had  an  awful  mouthfilling  sound. 

This  brother  of  mine,  who  is  now  no  more,  and  who 
might  have  been  a  MarinelP  himself,  for  his  notions  of 
wealth  and  grandeur  (to  say  nothing  of  his  marrying, 
in  succession,  two  ladies  with  dowries,  from  islands, 
whom  ancient  imagination  could  easily  have  exalted 
into  sea-nymphs),  was  then  a  fine  tall  lad,  of  intrepid 
spirit,  a  little  too  much  given  to  playing  tricks  on  those 
who  had  less.  He  was  a  dozen  years  older  than  I  was, 
and  he  had  a  good  deal  of  the  despot  in  a  nature  other- 
wise generous. 

To  give  an  instance  of  the  lengths  to  which  my 
brother  Stephen  carried  his  claims  of  ascendancy,  he 
used  to  astonish  the  boys,  at  a  day  school  to  which  he 
went  at  Finchley,  by  appearing  among  them  with  clean 
shoes,  when  the  bad  state  of  the  lanes  rendered  the 
phenomenon  unaccountable.  Reserve,  on  the  one  side, 
and  shame  on  another,  kept  the  mystery  a  secret  for 
some  time.  At  length  it  turned  out  that  he  was  in  the 
habit,  on  muddy  days,  of  making  one  of  his  brothers 
carry  him  to  school  on  his  shoulders. 

This  brother  (Robert),  who  used  to  laugh  at  the  recol- 
lection, and  who,  as  I  have  intimated,  was  quite  as 
brave  as  the  other,  was  at  a  disadvantage  on  such  occa- 
sions, from  his  very  bravery  ;  since  he  knew  what  a 
horror  my  mother  would  have  felt  had  there  been  any 
collision  between  them ;  so  he  used  to  content  himself 
with  an  oratorical  protest,  and  acquiesce.  Being  a 
brave,  or  at  all  events  irritable  little  fellow  enough  my- 
self, till  illness,  imagination,  and  an  ultra  tender  and 
anxious  rearing,  conspired  to  render  me  fearful  and 
patient,  I  had  no  such  consequences  to  think  of.  When 
Stephen  took  me  bodily  in  hand,  I  was  only  exas- 
[^  See  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  book  III.] 
36 


CHILDHOOD 

perated.  I  remember  the  furious  struggles  I  used  to 
make,  and  my  endeavours  to  get  at  his  shins,  when  he 
would  hold  me  at  arm's  length,  "  aggravating  "  me  (as 
the  phrase  is)  by  taunting  speeches,  and  laughing  like  a 
goblin. 

But  on  the  "  night-side  of  human  nature,"  as  Mrs. 
Crowe  ^  calls  it,  he  "  had  me."  I  might  confront  him 
and  endeavour  to  kick  his  shins  by  daylight,  but  with 
respect  to  ghosts,  as  the  sailor  said,  I  did  not  "  under- 
stand their  tackle."  I  had  unfortunately  let  him  see 
that  I  did  not  like  to  be  in  the  dark,  and  that  I  had  a 
horror  of  dreadful  faces,  even  in  books.  I  had  found 
something  particularly  ghastly  in  the  figure  of  an  old 
man  crawling  on  the  ground,  in  some  frontispiece — I 
think  to  a  book  called  the  Looking-Glass  ;  and  there 
was  a  fabulous  wild  beast,  a  portrait  of  which,  in  some 
picture-book,  unspeakably  shocked  me.  It  was  called 
the  Mantichora.  It  had  the  head  of  a  man,  grinning 
with  rows  of  teeth,  and  the  body  of  a  wild  beast,  bran- 
dishing a  tail  armed  with  stings.  It  was  sometimes 
called  by  the  ancients  ilf artichora.  But  I  did  not  know 
\  that.  I  took  the  word  to  be  a  horrible  compound  of 
I  man  and  tiger.  The  beast  figures  in  Pliny  and  the  old 
travellers.  ApoUonius  had  heard  of  him.  He  takes  a 
1    fearful  joy  in  describing  him,  even  from  report : — 

"  ApoUonius  asked  '  if  they  had  among  them  the  Mar- 
!  tichora.'  '  What ! '  said  larchas,  '  have  you  heard  of 
that  animal ;  for  if  you  have,  you  have  probably  heard 
I  something  extraordinary  of  its  figure.'  '  Great  and 
)  wonderful  things  have  I  heard  of  it,'  replied  ApoUonius. 
I  '  It  is  of  the  number  of  quadrupeds,  has  a  head  like  a 
j  man's,  is  as  large  as  a  lion,  with  a  tail  from  which 
bristles  grow,  of  the  length  of  a  cubit,  all  as  sharp  as 
I  prickles,  which  it  shoots  forth  like  so  many  arrows 
I    against  its  pursuers.' "  ^ 

1  That  sentence,  beginning  "  Great  and  wonderful 
I  things,"  proves  to  me,  that  ApoUonius  must  once  have 
I    been  a  little  boy,  looking  at  the  picture-books.     The 

j  ['  Mrs.  Catherine  Ann  Crowe,  n^e  Stevens  (1790-1872),  was  the 
!  author  of  a  book  of  ghostly  tales  called  The  Niglit-side  of  Nature, 
!     1848.]  2  Berwick's  Translation,  p.  176. 

37 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

possibility  of  such  "  creatures  "  being  "  pursued  "  never 
occurred  to  me.  Alexander,  I  thought,  might  have 
been  encountei-ed  while  crossing  the  Granicus,  and 
elephants  might  be  driven  into  the  sea  ;  but  how  could 
any  one  face  a  beast  with  a  man's  head  ?  One  look  of 
its  horrid  countenance  (which  it  always  carried  front- 
ing you,  as  it  went  by — I  never  imagined  it  seen  in  pro- 
file) would  have  been  enough,  I  concluded,  to  scare  an 
army.  Even  full-grown  dictionary  makers  have  been 
frightened  out  of  their  propriety  at  the  thought  of 
him.  "  Mantichora,"  says  old  Morell — "  bestia  horrenda" 
— (a  brute  fit  to  give  one  the  horrors). 

In  vain  my  brother  played  me  repeated  tricks \s^ith  this 
frightful  anomaly.  I  w^as  always  ready  to  be  frightened 
again.  At  one  time  he  would  grin  like  the  Mantichora  ; 
then  he  would  roar  like  him ;  then  call  about  him  in 
the  dark.  I  remember  his  asking  me  to  come  up  to 
him  one  night  at  the  top  of  the  house.  I  ascended,  and 
found  the  door  shut.  Suddenly  a  voice  came  through 
the  key-hole,  saying  in  its  hoUowest  tones,  "The  Manti- 
chora's  coming."  Down  I  rushed  to  the  parlour,  fancy- 
ing the  terror  at  my  heels. 

I  dwell  the  more  on  this  seemingly  petty  circum- 
stance, because  such  things  are  no  petty  ones  to  a  sen- 
sitive child.  My  brother  had  no  idea  of  the  mischief 
they  did  me.  Perhaps  the  mention  of  them  will  save 
mischief  to  others.  They  helped  to  morbidize  all  that 
was  weak  in  my  temperament,  and  cost  me  many  a 
bitter  night.  ^ 

^  Since  this  passage  was  written,  I  have  met  with  one  in  Tod's 
Travels  in  Western  India,  p.  82,  etc.,  in  which  the  veritable  origin 
of  the  idea  of  the  Mantichora  is,  I  have  no  doubt,  set  forth.  India 
has  ever  been  a  land  of  extremes,  both  spiritual  and  bodily.  At  the 
moment  when  I  write  (September,  1857)  it  is  a  land  of  horrors. 
Here  is  one,  existing  five-and-thirty  years  ago,  and  in  all  probability 
existing  still,  which  shows  the  outrageous  tendency  to  excess  on 
the  side  of  mad  superstition,  and  of  brute  contradiction  to  humanity, 
characteristic  of  the  lower  forms  of  Indian  degradation.  It  is  the 
sect  of  the  Aghori,  who,  among  other  unspeakable  viands,  fed  on 
dead  bodies,  and  were  first  re-mentioned  after  the  ancient  writers, 
by  the  celebrated  traveller  Thevenot,  who  says  they  were  called 
Merdi-coura,  or  eaters  of  men.  Colonel  Tod  observes,  "It  is  a 
curious  fact,  as  D'Anville  adds,  that  '  this  espece  de  bete,'  this  Merdi- 
cour,  or,  properlv,  Merdi-khor,  should  have  been  noticed  by  Pliny, 

38 


CHILDHOOD 

Another  time  I  was  reading  to  him,  while  he  was 
recovering  in  bed  from  an  accident.  He  was  reckless 
in  his  play ;  had  once  broken  his  leg  on  Hampstea^ 
Heath  ;  and  w^as  now  getting  well  from  a  broken 
collar-bone.  He  gave  me  a  volume  to  read  to  him, 
either  of  Elegant  Extracts  or  Atkins  Miscellanies  (t, 
think  the  former),  and  selected  the  story  of  "  Sir] 
Bertrand."  He  did  not  betray  by  his  face  what  was 
coming.  I  was  enchanted  with  the  commencement 
about  the  "  dreary  moors  "  and  the  "  curfew^ ; "  and  I 
was  reading  on  with  breathless  interest,  when,  at  one 
of  the  most  striking  passages, — probably  some  analo- 
gous one  about  a  noise, — he  contrived,  w^ith  some  in- 
strument or  other,  to  give  a  tremendous  knock  on  the 
wall.  Up  I  jumped,  aghast ;  and  the  invalid  lay  rolling 
with  laughter. 

So  healthily  had  I  the  good  fortune  to  be  brought 
up  in  point  of  religion,  that  (to  anticipate  a  remark 
which  might  have  come  in  at  a  less  effective  place)  I 
remember  kneeling  one  day  at  the  school-church  dur- 
ing the  Litany,  when  the  thought  fell  upon  me — "Sup- 
pose eternal  punishment  should  be  true."  An  unusual 
sense  of  darkness  and  anxiety  crossed  me — but  only 
for  a  moment.  The  next  instant  the  extreme  absurdity 
and  impiety  of  the  notion  restored  me  to  my  ordinary 
feelings ;  and  from  that  moment  to  this, — respect  the 
mystery  of  the  past  as  I  do,  and  attribute  to  it  what 
final  good  out  of  fugitive  evil  I  may, — I  have  never  for 

Aristotle,  and  Ctesias,  under  nearly  the  same  name — Marti-cliora, 
giving  its  synonym  in  their  own  language,  ^Av6poirocl)dyos ;  for  Merdi- 
khor  is  a  Persian  compound,  from  inerd,  '  man,'  and  khoordun,  '  to 
eat.' " 

"  I  passed,"  says  the  Colonel,  "the  gopha,  or  cave,  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  monsters  of  the  present  age,  who  was  long  the! 
object  of  terror  and  loathing  to  Aboo  and  its  neighbourhood.  Hia 
name  was  Putteh  Poori ;  who,  after  having  embowelled  whatever 
came  in  his  way,  took  the  extraordinary  resolution  of  immuring 
himself  in  his  cell.  The  commands  of  maniacs  generally  meet  withi 
ready  obedience  ;  and  as  he  was  regarded  by  many  in  this  light,  his 
desire  was  implicitly  fulfilled.  The  mouth  of  the  cave  was  built  up; 
and  will  remain  so,  till  some  mummy-hunting  Frank  shall  re-open 
it,  or  till  phrenology  form  a  part  of  the  modern  education  of  a' 
Hindu;  when,  doubtless,  the  organ  of  destruction  on  the  cranium 
of  Fixtteh  Poori  will  exhibit  a  high  state  of  development." 

39 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

/oiio  instant  dt)ubted  the  transitoriness  of  the  doctrine 
and  the  unexchisive  goodness  of  futurity.  All  those 
question-begging  argumentations  of  the  churches  and 
schools,  which  arc  employed  to  reconcile  the  inflictions 
of  the  imrsery  to  the  gift  of  reason,  and  which  would 
do  quite  as  well  for  the  absurdities  of  any  one  creed  as 
another  (indeed,  they  would  be  found  to  have  done  so, 
were  we  as  deeply  read  in  the  religions  of  the  East  as 
of  the  West),  come  to  nothing  before  the  very  modesty 
to  which  they  appeal,  provided  it  is  a  modesty  healthy 
and  loving.  The  more  even  of  fugitive  evil  which  it 
sees  (and  no  ascertained  evil  suffered  by  any  individual 
creature  is  otherwise),  nay,  the  more  which  is  disclosed 
to  it  in  the  very  depths  and  concealments  of  nature, 
only  the  more  convinces  it  that  the  great  mystery  of 
all  things  will  allow  of  no  lasting  evil,  visible  or  in- 
visible ;  and  therefore  it  concludes  that  the  evil  which 
does  exist  is  for  some  good  purpose,  and  for  the  final 
blessing  of  all  sentient  beings,  of  whom  it  takes  a  care 
so  remarkable. 

I  know  not  whether  it  was  fortunate  or  unfortunate 
for  me,  humanly  speaking,  that  my  mother  did  not  see 
as  far  into  healthiness  of  training  in  other  respects  as 
in  this.  Some  of  the  bad  consequences  to  myself  were 
indeed  obvious,  as  the  reader  has  seen  ;  but  it  may 
have  enabled  me  to  save  worse  to  others.  If  I  could 
find  any  fault  with  her  memory  (speaking  after  an 
ordinary  fashion),  it  would  be  that  I  was  too  delicately 
bred,  except  as  to  what  is  called  good  living.  My 
parents  were  too  poor  for  luxury.  But  she  set  me  an 
example  of  such  excessive  care  and  anxiety  for  those 
about  us,  that  I  remember  I  could  not  see  her  bite  off 
the  ends  of  her  thread  while  at  work  without  being 
in  pain  till  I  was  sure  she  would  not  swallow  them. 
She  used  to  be  so  agitated  at  the  sight  of  discord  and 
quarrelling,  particularly  when  it  came  to  blows,  and 
between  the  rudest  or  gayest  combatants  in  the  street, 
that,  although  it  did  not  deprive  her  of  courage  and 
activity  enough  to  interfere  (which  she  would  do  if 
there  was  the  slightest  chance  of  effect,  and  which 
produced  in  myself  a  corresponding  discrimination  be- 

40 


CHILDHOOD 

tween  sensibility  and  endeavour),  it  gave  me  an  ultra- 
sympathy  with  the  least  show  of  pain  and  suffering ; 
and  she  had  produced  in  me  such  a  horror,  or  rather 
such  an  intense  idea  of  even  violent  words,  and  of  the 
commonest  trivial  oath,  that  being  led  one  day,  per- 
haps by  the  very  excess  of  it,  to  snatch  a  "fearful  joy" 
in  its  utterance,  it  gave  me  so  much  remorse  that  for 
some  time  afterwards  I  could  not  receive  a  bit  of 
praise,  or  a  pat  of  encouragement  on  the  head,  with- 
out thinking  to  myself,  "Ah  !  they  little  suspect  that  I 
am  the  boy  who  said,  '  d — n  it.' "  5 

Dear  mother  !  No  one  could  surpass  her  in  gener-i- 
osity ;  none  be  more  willing  to  share,  or  to  take  the 
greatest  portion  of  blame  to  themselves,  of  any  evil 
consequences  of  mistake  to  a  son ;  but  if  I  have  not 
swallowed  very  many  camels  in  the  course  of  my  life, 
it  has  not  been  owing,  perhaps,  to  this  too  great  a 
straining  at  gnats.  How  happy  shall  I  be  (if  I  may) 
to  laugh  and  compare  notes  with  her  on  the  subject 
in  any  humble  corner  of  heaven ;  to  recall  to  her  the 
filial  tenderness  with  which  she  was  accustomed  to 
speak  of  the  mistakes  of  one  of  her  own  parents,  and 
to  think  that  her  grandchildren  will  be  as  kind  to  the 
memory  of  their  father. 

I  may  here  mention,  as  a  ludicrous  counterpart  to 
this  story,  and  a  sample  of  the  fantastical  nature  of 
scandal,  that  somebody  having  volunteered  a  defence 
of  my  character  on  some  occasion  to  Mr.  Wordsworth, 
as  though  the  character  had  been  questioned  by  him 
— the  latter  said  he  had  never  heard  anything  against 
it,  except  that  I  was  "  given  to  swearing." 

I  certainly  think  little  of  the  habit  of  swearing, 
however  idle,  if  it  be  carried  no  further  than  is  done 
by  many  gallant  and  very  good  men,  wise  and  great 
ones  not  excepted.  I  wish  I  had  no  worse  faults  to 
answer  for.  But  the  fact  is,  that  however  I  may  laugh 
at  the  puerile  conscience  of  the  anecdote  just  men- 
tioned, an  oath  has  not  escaped  my  lips  from  that  day 
to  this. 

I  hope  no  "  good  fellow  "  will  think  ill  of  me  for  it. 
If  he  did,  I  should  certainly  be  tempted  to  begin  swear- 

41 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

in^  iininodiately,  purely  to  vindicate  my  character. 
J>ut  tlioro  was  no  s\vcarin<^  in  our  family  :  there  was 
none  in  our  school  (Christ  Hospital) ;  and  I  seldom  ever 
fell  in  the  way  of  it  anywlicre  except  in  books  ;  so  that 
the  practice  was  not  put  into  my  head.  I  look  upon 
Tom  Jones,  who  swore,  as  an  angel  of  light  compared 
with  Blitil,  who,  I  am  afraid,  swore  no  more  than  my- 
self. Steele,  I  suspect,  occasionally  rapped  out  an  oath, 
which  is  not  to  be  supposed  of  Addison.  And  this, 
agaui.  might  tempt  me  into  a  grudge  against  my  non- 
juring  turn  of  colloquy  ;  for  I  must  own  that  I  pre- 
fer open-hearted  Steele  wdtli  all  his  faults,  to  Addison 
■with  all  his  essays.  But  habit  is  habit,  negative  as 
w^ell  as  positive.  Let  him  that  is  without  one,  cast  the 
first  sarcasm. 

After  all,  swearing  was  once  seriously  objected  to 
me,  and  I  had  given  cause  for  it.  I  must  own,  that  I 
even  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  a  few  oaths.  It  was 
for  an  article  in  a  magazine  (the  Neiv  Monthly),  w^here 
I  had  to  describe  a  fictitious  person,  whose  character  I 
thought  required  it ;  and  I  pleaded  truth  to  nature, 
and  the  practice  of  the  good  old  novelists ;  but  in  vain. 
The  editor  was  not  to  be  entreated.  He  was  Mr. 
Theodore  Hook.^  Perhaps  this  was  what  gave  rise  to 
,the  poet's  impression. 

•J     But  to  return  to  my  reminiscences.     It  may  appear 
■  surprising  to  some,   that  a   child  brought  up  in  such 
scruples  of  conscience,  and  particularly  in  such  objec- 
tions to  pugnacity,  should  have  ever  found  himself  in 
possession  of  such  toys  as  a  drum  and  a   sword.     A 
distinguished  economist,    who  was  pleased  the  other 
day  to   call  me   the  "  spoiled  child   of  the  public "  (a 
title  which  I  should  be  proud  to  possess),  expressed  his 
astonishment  that  a  person  so  "  gentle "  should  have 
been  a  fighter  in  the  thick  of  politics.     But  the  "gen- 
tleness "  was  the  reason.     I  mean,  that  under  certain 
'.circumstances  of  training,  the  very  love  of  peace  and 
I  comfort,    in   begetting  a   desire  to  see  those  benefits 


[1  Theodore  Edward  Hook  (1788-1&41)  the  novelist.     He  became 
the  editor  of  the  Neiv  Monthly  Magazine  in  1836.] 

42 


CHILDHOOD 

partaken  by  others,  begets  a  corresponding  indignation 
at  seeing  them  withheld. 

I  am  aware  of  the  perils  of  reaction  to  which  this 
feeling  tends  ;  of  the  indulgence  in  bad  passions  which 
it  may  disguise  ;  of  the  desirableness  of  quietly  advo- 
cating whatever  is  quietly  to  be  secured ;  of  the  per- 
plexity occasioned  to  all  these  considerations  by  the 
example  which  appears  to  be  set  by  nature  herself  in 
her  employment  of  storm  and  tempest ;  and  of  the 
answer  to  be  given  to  that  perplexity  by  the  modesty 
of  human  ignorance  and  its  want  of  certainty  of  fore- 
sight. Nevertheless,  till  this  question  be  settled  (and 
the  sooner  the  justice  of  the  world  can  settle  it  the 
better),  it  renders  the  best  natures  liable  to  incon- 
sistencies between  theory  and  practice,  and  forces  them 
into  self -reconcilements  of  conscience,  neither  quite  so 
easy  in  the  result,  nor  so  deducible  from  perfect  reason 
as  they  would  suppose.  My  mother,  whose  fortunes 
had  been  blighted,  and  feelings  agonized,  by  the  revo- 
lution in  America,  and  who  had  conceived  such  a 
horror  of  war,  that  when  we  resided  once  near  the 
Park,  she  would  take  a  long  circuit  (as  I  have  before 
mentioned),  rather  than  go  through  it,  in  order  to 
avoid  seeing  the  soldiers,  permitted  me,  nevertheless, 
to  have  the  drum  and  the  sword.  Why  ?  Because,  if 
the  sad  necessity  were  to  come,  it  would  be  her  son's 
duty  to  war  against  war  itself — to  fight  against  those 
who  oppressed  the  anti-fighters. 

My  father,  entertaining  these  latter  opinions  without 
any  misgiving  (enforced,  too,  as  they  were  by  his 
classical  education),  and  both  my  parents  being  great 
lovers  of  sermons,  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  reading 
to  us  of  an  evening,  I  found  myself  at  one  time  culti- 
vating a  perplexed  ultra-conscientiousness  with  my 
mother ;  at  another,  laughing  and  being  jovial  with 
my  father ;  and  at  a  third,  hearing  from  both  of  them 
stories  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  heroes,  some  of  whom 
she  admired  as  much  as  he  did.  The  consequence  was, 
that  I  one  day  presented  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  the 
maidservant  a  combination  that  would  have  startled 
Dr.  Trinder,  and  delighted  the  eyes  of  an  old  Puritan. 

43 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

To  clap  a  sword  by  my  side,  and  get  the  servant  to  pin 
up  my  hat  into  the  likeness  of  the  hat  military,  were 
symptoms  of  an  ambition  which  she  understood  and 
ai>plaiulod  :  but  when  I  jiroceeded  to  append  to  this 
martial  attire  one  of  my  father's  bands,  and,  combining 
the  military  with  the  ecclesiastical  authority,  got  upon 
a  chair  to  preach  to  an  imaginary  audience  over  the 
back  of  it,  she  seemed  to  think  the  image  realized  of 
"  heaven  and  earth  coming  together."  However,  she 
ended  with  enjoying,  and  even  abetting,  this  new 
avatar  of  the  church  militant.  Had  I  been  a  Moham- 
med, she  would  have  been  my  first  proselyte,  and  I 
should  have  called  her  the  Maid-servant  of  the  Faith- 
ful. She  was  a  good,  simple-hearted  creature,  who 
from  not  having  been  fortunate  with  the  first  orator 
in  whom  she  believed,  had  stood  a  chance  of  ruin  for 
life,  till  received  into  the  only  family  that  would  admit 
her  ;  and  she  lived  and  died  in  its  service. 

The  desire  thus  childishly  exhibited,  of  impressing 
some  religious  doctrine,  never  afterwards  quitted  me  ; 
though,  in  consequence  of  the  temperament  which  I 
inherited  from  one  parent,  and  the  opinions  which 
I  derived  from  both,  it  took  a  direction  singularly 
cheerful.  For  a  man  is  but  his  parents,  or  some  other 
of  his  ancestors,  drawn  out.  My  father,  though  a 
clergyman  of  the  Established  Church,  had  settled,  as 
well  as  my  mother,  into  a  Christian  of  the  Universalist 
persuasion,  which  believes  in  the  final  restoration  of  all 
things.  It  was  hence  that  I  learned  the  impiety  (as  I 
have  expressed  it)  of  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punish- 
ment. In  the  present  day,  a  sense  of  that  impiety,  in 
some  way  or  other,  whether  of  doubt  or  sophistication, 
is  the  secret  feeling  of  nine-tenths  of  all  churches  ;  and 
every  church  will  discover,  before  long,  that  it  must 
rid  itself  of  the  doctrine,  if  it  would  not  cease  to  exist. 
Love  is  the  only  creed  destined  to  survive  all  others. 
They  who  think  that  no  church  can  exist  without  a 
strong  spice  of  terror,  should  watch  the  growth  of 
education,  and  see  which  system  of  it  is  the  most 
beloved.  They  should  see  also  which  system  in  the 
very   nursery  is  growing    the   most   ridiculous.       The 

44 


CHILDHOOD 

threat  of  the  "  black  man  and  the  coal-hole  "  has  van- 
ished from  all  decent  infant  training.  What  answer  is 
the  father,  who  would  uphold  the  worst  form  of  it,  to 
give  to  the  child  whom  he  has  spared  the  best  ? 

How  pleasant  it  is,  in  reviewing  one's  life,  to  look 
back  on  the  circumstances  that  originated  or  encour- 
aged any  kindly  tendency.  I  behold,  at  this  moment, 
with  lively  distinctness,  the  handsome  face  of  Miss  C, 
who  was  the  first  person  I  remember  seeing  at  a  piano- 
forte ;  and  I  have  something  of  a  like  impression  of 
that  of  Miss  M[axwell],  mother,  if  J  mistake  not,  or,  at  all 
events,  near  relation,  of  my  distinguished  friend  Sheri- 
dan Knowles.^  My  parents  and  his  were  acquainted. 
My  mother,  though  fond  of  music,  and  a  gentle  singer 
in  her  way,  had  missed  the  advantage  of  a  musical 
education,  partly  from  her  coming  of  a  half-quaker 
stock,  partly  (as  I  have  said  before)  from  her  having 
been  too  diffident  to  avail  herself  of  the  kindness  of 
Dr.  Franklin,  who  offered  to  teach  her  the  guitar. 

The  reigning  English  composer  at  that  time  was| 
"Mr.  Hook,"^  as  he  was  styled  at  the  head  of  his  songs||; 
He  was  the  father  of  my  punctilious  editor  of  th^," 
magazine,  and  had  a  real,  though  small  vein  of  genius|| 
which  was  none  the  better  for  its  being  called  upon  t4| 
flow  profusely  for  Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall.  He  wa^j 
composer  of  the  "  Lass  of  Richmond  Hill "  (an  allusioi]^! 
to  a  penchant  of  George  IV.),  and  of  another  populaC| 
song  more  lately  remembered,  "  'Twas  within  a  mile  ot;^ 
Edinborough  town."  ^  The  songs  of  that  day  abounded 
in  Strephons  and  Delias,  and  the  music  partook  of  the 
gentle  inspiration.  The  association  of  early  ideas  with  | 
that  kind  of  commonplace,  has  given  me  more  than  a ; 
toleration  for  it.     I  find  something  even  touching  in' 

[1  James  Sheridan  Knowles  (1784-1862),  the  dramatist,  was  the 
son  of  James  Knowles,  lexicographer,  by  his  first  wife,  Jane  Daunt 
(Tj-^e  Peace).  James  Knowles  married  a  second  time  in  1800  a  Miss 
Maxwell,  who  mnst  have  been  the  lady  Hunt  remembered.] 

[2  James  Hook  (b.  1746-1827)  is  said  to  have  written  more  than 
2,000  songs.]  I 

[3  The  words  of  this  song,  which  are  to  be  found  in  an  old  play  by  \ 
"Mr.  Scott"  entitled  The  Mock  Marriage,  1696,  were  written  by  r 
Thomas  D'Urfey  (165a-1722-3).] 

45 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

the  endeavours  of  an  innocent  set  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, my  fathers  and  mothers,  to  identify  themselves 
with  shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  even  in  the  most 
impossible  hats  and  crooks.  I  think  of  the  many 
heiirtfelt  smiles  that  must  have  welcomed  love  letters 
and  verses  containing  that  sophisticate  imagery,  and 
of  the  no  less  genuine  tears  that  were  shed  over  the 
documents  when  faded  ;  and  criticism  is  swallowed  up 
in  those  human  drops.  This  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
I  can  read  even  the  most  faded  part  of  the  works  of 
Shenstone,  and  why  I  can  dip  again  and  again  into 
such  correspondence  as  that  of  the  Countesses  of  Hert- 
ford and  Pomfret,'  and  of  my  Lady  Luxborough,  who 
raises  monuments  in  her  garden  to  the  united  merits 
of  Mr,  Somerville^  and  the  god  Pan.  The  feeling  was 
true,  though  the  expression  was  sophisticate  and  a 
fashion  ;  and  they  who  cannot  see  the  feeling  for  the 
mode,  do  the  very  thing  which  they  think  they 
scorn ;  that  is,  sacrifice  the  greater  consideration  for 
the  less. 

But  Hook  was  not  the  only,  far  less  the  most 
fashionable  composer.  There  were  (if  not  all  per- 
sonally, yet  popularly  contemporaneous)  Mr.  Lampe, 
Mr.  Oswald,  Dr.  Boyce,  Linley,  Jackson,  Shield,  and 
Storace,  with  Paesiello,  Sacchini,  and  others  at  the 
King's  Theatre,  w^hose  delightful  airs  wandered  into  the 
streets  out  of  the  English  operas  that  borrowed  them, 
and  became  confounded  with  English  property.  I  have 
often,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  heard  "  Whither,  my 
love?"  and  "For  tenderness  formed,"  boasted  of,  as 
specimens  of  English  melody.  For  many  years  I  took 
them  for  such  myself,  in  common  w^ith  the  rest  of  our 
family,  with  whom  they  w^ere  great  favourites.  The 
first,  which  Stephen  Storace  adapted  to  some  words  in 
the  Haunted  Toiver,  is  the  air  of  "  La  Rachelina "  in 
Paesiello's  opera  La  Molinara.  The  second,  which  w^as 
put  by  General  Burgoyne  to  a  song  in  his  comedy  of 
the  Heiress,  is  "  lo  sono  Lindoro,"  in  the  same  enchant- 

(1  John  Pomfret  (1667-1703),  the  author  of  The  Choice,  and  other 
poems.] 
[«  WUliam  Somerville  (1675-1742),  the  author  of  The  Chase.] 

46 


CHILDHOOD 

iiig  composer's  Barbier-e  di  Seviglia.  The  once  popular 
English  songs  and  duets,  etc.,  "  How  imperfect  is 
expression  ;  "  "  For  me,  my  fair  a  wreath  has  wove  ; " 
"Henry  cull'd  the  flow'ret's  bloom;"  "Oh,  thou  wert 
born  to  please  me ; "  "  Here's  a  health  to  all  good 
lasses  ; "  "  Youth's  the  season  made  for  joys  ;  "  "  Gently 
touch  the  warbling  lyre;"  "No,  'twas  neither  shape 
nor  feature  ;  "  "  Pray,  Goody,  please  to  moderate  ;  " 
"  Hope  told  a  flattering  tale  ;  "  and  a  hundred  others, 
were  all  foreign  compositions,  chiefly  Italian.  Every 
burlesque  or  huffo  song,  of  any  pretension,  was  pretty 
sure  to  be  Italian.  , 

When  Edwin,    Fawcett,   and  others,    were    rattling  4 
away  in  the  happy  comic  songs  of  O'Keeffe,   with  hisv 
triple  rhymes  and    illustrative    jargon,    the    audience" 
little  suspected  that  they  were  listening  to  some  of  the 
finest  animal  spirits  of  the  south — to  Piccini,  Paesiello, 
and  Cimarosa.     Even  the  wild  Irishman  thought  him- . 
self  bound  to  go  to  Naples,    before   he   could    get    a? 
proper  dance  for  his  gaiety.     The  only  genuine  English 
compositions  worth  anything  at  that  time,  were  almost 
confined  to   Shield,   Dibdin,  and  Storace,    the    last   of 
whom,  the  author  of    "  Lullaby,"  who  was  an   Italian 
born  in  England,  formed  the  golden  link  between  the 
music  of  the  two  countries,  the  only  one,  perhaps,  in 
which  English  accentuation  and  Italian  flow  were  ever 
truly   amalgamated  ;    though  I  must  own  that  I  am 
heretic  enough  (if  present   fashion    is    orthodoxy)    to 
believe,  that  Arne  was  a  real  musical  genius,  of  a  very 
pure,  albeit  not  of  the  very  first  water.     He  has  set, 
indeed,  two  songs  of  Shakspeare's  (the  "  Cuckoo  song," 
and   "  Where  the  bee  sucks,")  in   a   spirit   of   perfect 
analogy  to  the  words,  as  well  as  of  the  liveliest  musical 
invention  ;    and  his    air  of   "  Water  parted,"  in  Arta- 
xerxes,  winds   about  the  feelings  with  an  earnest  and 
graceful  tenderness  of  regret,  worthy  in  the  highest 
degree  of  the  affecting  beauty  of  the  sentiment.^ 

'  "Dr.  Hadynwas  delighted  with  Artaxerxes;  and  he  told  my 
dear  mother  (for  he  was  frequently  with  us  at  Vauxhall)  that  he 
had  not  an  idea  we  had  such  an  opera  in  the  English  language." — 
Letter  of  Mrs.  Henslow  in  Cradock's  Literally  and  Miscellaneous 
Memoirs.     Vol.  iv.  p.  133. 

47 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

All  tlu'  favourite  poetry  of  the  day,  however,  was  of 
ono  cast.  I  have  now  before  mo  a  Select  Collection  of 
English  Songs,  by  Ritson,  published  in  the  year  1783, 
ill  three  vohimes  octavo,  the  hist  of  which  contains 
the  musical  airs.  The  style  is  of  the  following  descrip- 
tion : — 

Almeria's  face,  hei*  shape,  her  air, 

With  chrtrmji  resistless  ^cound  tfie  heart,  etc.,  p.  2, 

(I  should  not  wonder  if  dear  Almeria  Thornton,  whose 
tender  affection  for  my  mother  will  appear  in  another 
chapter,  was  christened  out  of  this  song.) 

Say,  Myra,  why  is  gentle  love,  etc. 
Which  racks  the  ainorous  breast, 

by  Lord  Lyttelton,  the  most  admired  poet,  perhaps,  of 
the  age. 

When  Delia  on  the  plain  appears ; 

also  by  his  lordship. 

In  vain,  Philander,  at  my  feet. 
Ah,  Damon,  dear  shepherd,  adieu. 

Come,  thou  rosy  dimpled  boy. 
Source  of  every  heartfelt  joy. 
Leave  the  blissful  bowers  a  while, 
Paphos  and  the  Cyprian  isle. 

This  was  a  favourite  song  in  our  hour.  So  was 
"  Come,  now,  all  ye  social  powers,"  and 

Come,  let  us  dance  and  sing, 
While  all  Barbjidos  bells  shall  ring  ; 

probably  on  account  of  its  mention  of  my  father's 
native  place.  The  latter  song  is  not  in  Ritson.  It  was 
the  finale  in  Colman's  Inkle  and  Yarico,  a  play  founded 
on  a  Barbadian  story,  which  our  family  must  have  gone 
with  delight  to  see.  Another  favourite,  which  used  to 
make  my  mother  shed  tears,  on  account  of  my  sister 
Eliza,  who  died  early,  was  Jackson  of  Exeter's  song — 

Encompass'd  in  an  angel's  frame. 
48 


CHILDHOOD 

It  is  indeed  a  touching  specimen  of  that  master.  The 
"Hardy  Tar,"  also,  and  "  The  topsails  shiver  in  the 
wind,"  used  to  charm  yet  sadden  her,  on  account  of  my 
eldest  brother  then  living,  who  was  at  sea.  The  latter, 
written  by  the  good-natured  and  gallant  Captain 
Thompson,  was  set  to  music,  I  think,  by  Arne's  son, 
Michael,  who  had  a  fine  musical  sea-vein,  simple  and 
strong.  He  was  the  composer  of  "  Fresh  and  strong  the 
breeze  is  blowing." 

The  other  day  I  found  two  songs  of  that  period  on 
Robinson's  music-stall  in  Wardour  Street,  one  by  Mr. 
Hook,  entitled  "  Alone,  by  the  light  of  the  moon  ; "  the 
other,  a  song  with  a  French  burden,  called  "  Dans  votre 
lit ; "  an  innocent  production,  notwithstanding  its  title. 
They  were  the  only  songs  I  recollect  singing  when  a ; 
child,  and  I  looked  on  them  with  the  accumulated^ 
tenderness  of  sixty- three  years  of  age.  I  do  not  re- | 
member  to  have  set  eyes  on  them  in  the  interval.; 
What  a  difference  between  the  little  smooth-faced  boy 
at  his  mother's  knee,  encouraged  to  lift  vip  his  voice  to 
the  pianoforte,  and  the  battered  grey-headed  senior, 
looking  again,  for  the  first  time,  on  what  he  had  sung 
at  the  distance  of  more  than  half  a  century.  Life  often 
seems  a  dream  ;  but  there  are  occasions  when  the  sud- 
den re-appearance  of  early  objects,  by  the  intensity  of 
their  presence,  not  only  renders  the  interval  less  pre- 
sent to  the  consciousness  than  a  very  dream,  but  makes 
the  portion  of  life  which  preceded  it  seem  to  have  been 
the  most  real  of  all  things,  and  our  only  undreaming 
time. 

"  Alone,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,"  and  "Dans  votre 
lit ! "  how  had  they  not  been  thumbed  and  thrown  aside 
by  all  the  pianoforte  young  ladies — our  mothers  and 
grandmothers — fifty  years  ago,  never  to  be  brought 
forth  again,  except  by  an  explorer  of  old  stalls,  and  to 
meet,  perhaps,  with  no  sympathy  but  in  his  single 
imagination  !  Yet  there  I  stood  ;  and  Wardour  Street, 
every  street,  all  London,  as  it  now  exists,  became  to  me 
as  if  it  had  never  been.  The  universe  itself  was  no- 
thing but  a  poor  sitting-room  in  the  year  '89  or  '90, 
with  my  mother  in  it  bidding  me  sing,  Miss  C.  at  the 

49  E 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

pianoforte — harpsichord  more  likely,  and  my  little 
sist(M-,  Mary,  \vitli  her  round  cheeks  and  blue  eyes, 
^vishinJl^  me  to  be«i;in.  What  a  great  singer  is  that  little 
boy  to  those  loving  relations,  and  how  Miss  C,  with  all 
her  good  nature,  must  be  smiling  at  the  importance  of 
little  boys  to  their  mothers!  "  Alone,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,"  was  the  "  show  song,"  but  "Dans  votre  lit" 
was  the  favourite  with  my  sister,  because,  in  her  ignor- 
ance of  the  French  language,  she  had  associated  the 
name  of  her  brother  with  the  sound  of  the  last  word. 

The  song  was  a  somewhat  gallant,  but  very  decorous 
■  song,  apostrophizing  a  lady  as  a  lily  in  the  flower-bed. 
It  was  "silly,  sooth,"  and  "dallied  wuth  the  innocence 
of  love "  in  those  days,  after  a  fashion  which  might 
have  excited  livelier  ideas  in  the  more  restricted  imagi- 
nations of  the  present.  The  reader  has  seen  that  my 
mother,  notwithstanding  her  charitableness  to  the  poor 
maid-servant,  was  a  woman  of  strict  morals ;  the  tone 
of  the  family  conversation  was  scrupulously  correct, 
though,  perhaps,  a  little  flowery  and  Thomson-like 
(Thomson  was  the  favourite  poet  of  most  of  us) ;  yet 
the  songs  that  were  sung  at  that  time  by  the  most  fas- 
tidious might  be  thought  a  shade  freer  than  would  suit 
the  like  kind  of  society  at  present.  Whether  we  are 
more  innocent  in  having  become  more  ashamed,  I  shall 
not  judge.  Assuredly,  the  singer  of  those  songs  was  as 
innocent  as  the  mother  that  bade  him  sing  them. 

My  little  sister  Mary  died  not  long  after.  She  was  so 
young,  that  my  only  recollection  of  her,  besides  her 
blue  eyes,  is  her  love  of  her  brother,  and  her  custom  of 
leading  me  by  the  hand  to  some  stool  or  seat  on  the 
staircase,  and  making  me  sing  the  song  with  her 
favourite  burden.  We  were  the  two  youngest  children, 
and  about  of  an  age. 

I  please  myself  with  picturing  to  my  imagination 
what  was  going  forward  during  my  childhood  in  the 
world  of  politics,  literature,  and  public  amusements ; 
how  far  they  interested  my  parents  ;  and  what  amount 
of  impression  they  may  have  left  on  my  own  mind. 
The  American  Revolution,  which  had  driven  my  father 
from  Philadelphia,  was  not  long  over,  and  the  French 

50 


CHILDHOOD 

Revolution  was  approaching.  My  father,  for  reasons 
which  have  already  been  mentioned,  listened  more  and 
more  to  the  new  opinions,  and  my  mother  listened,  not 
only  from  love  to  her  husband,  but  because  she  was  still 
more  deeply  impressed  by  speculations  regarding  the 
welfare  of  human  kind.  The  public  mind,  after  a  long 
and  comparatively  insipid  tranquillity,  had  begun  to  be 
stirred  by  the  eloquence  of  Burke ;  by  the  rivalries  of 
Pitt  and  Fox ;  by  the  thanks  which  the  king  gave  to 
heaven  for  his  recovery  from  his  first  illness  ;  by  the 
warlike  and  licentious  energies  of  the  Russian  Empress, 
Catherine  II.,  who  partly  shocked  and  partly  amused 
them  ;  and  by  the  gentler  gallantries  and  showy  lux- 
ury of  the  handsome  young  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards 
George  IV. 

In  the  world  of  literature  and  art,  Goldsmith  and 
Johnson  had  gone  ;  Cowper  was  not  yet  much  known  ; 
the  most  prominent  poets  were  Hayley  ^  and  Darwin  ; 
the  most  distinguished  prose-writer.  Gibbon.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  was  in  his  decline,  so  was  Horace 
Walpole.  The  Kembles  had  come  up  in  the  place  of 
Garrick.  There  were  excellent  comic  actors  in  the 
persons  of  Edwin,  Lewis,  young  Bannister,  etc.  They 
had  O'Keeffe,  an  original  humourist,  to  write  for  them. 
I  have  already  noticed  the  vocal  portion  of  the  theatres. 
Miss  Burney,  afterwards  Madame  d'Arblay,  surprised 
the  reading  world  with  her  entertaining,  but  somewhat 
vulgar  novels  ;  and  Mrs.  Inchbald,  Mrs.  Charlotte 
Smith,  and  a  then  anonymous  author,  Robert  Bage, 
(who  wrote  He7'7nsprong  and  Man  as  He  Is)  delighted 
liberal  politicians  with  theirs.  Mrs.  Inchbald  was  also 
a  successful  dramatist ;  but  her  novels,  which  were 
written  in  a  style  to  endure,  were  her  chief  merits.^ 

['  William  Hayley  (1745-1820),  the  author  of  Triumplis  of  Temper,  \ 
and  other  poems.  He  was  acquainted  with  William  Blake  and  | 
William  Cowper,  and  wrote  the  life  of  the  latter.  Erasmus  Dar-  | 
win,  M.D.  (1731-1802),  the  grandfather  of  the  celebrated  Charles  | 
Darwin,  and  the  author  of  Tlie  Botanic  Garden,  a  poem  much  | 
esteemed  in  its  day.  Frances  Burney  (1752-1840)  married  M.  ii 
d'Arblay,  a  French  emigrant.  Her  novel  Evelina  ;  or  the  History 
of  a  Young  Lady's  Introduction  to  tlie  World,  made  her  famous. 
Some  other  novels  from  her  pen  were  published,  as  well  as  her 

51 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

My  niothor  was  one  of  their  greatest  admirers.  I 
have  hoard  her  expatiate  with  dehght  on  the  charac- 
ters in  X(ttu)-e  and  Art,  which,  though  not  so  masterly 
a  novel  as  the  Simple  Story,  and  a  little  wilful  in  the 
treatment,  was  full  of  matter  for  reflection,  especially 
on  conventional,  and  what  are  now  called  "  class " 
points.  Dr.  Philpotts  would  have  accused  my  mother 
of  disalTection  to  the  Church  ;  and  she  would  not  have 
mended  the  matter  by  retreating  on  her  admiration  of 
Bishops  Hoadley  and  Shipley.  Her  regard  for  the 
reverend  author  of  Meditations  in  a  Flmver  Garden 
would  have  made  the  doctor  smile,  though  she  would 
have  recovered,  perhaps,  something  of  his  good  opinion 
by  her  admiration  of  Dr.  Young  and  his  Night  Thoughts. 
But  Young  deluded  her  with  his  groans  against  the 
world,  and  his  lamentations  for  his  daughter.  She  did 
not  know  that  he  was  a  preferment-hunter,  who  was 
prosperous  enough  to  indulge  in  the  "  luxury  of  woe," 
and  to  groan  because  his  toast  was  not  thrice  buttered. 

Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall,  as  painted  in  Miss  Burney's 
novels,  were  among  the  fashionable  amusements  of 
those  days.  My  mother  was  neither  rich  nor  gay 
enough  to  see  much  of  them  ;  but  she  was  no  ascetic, 
and  she  went  where  others  did,  as  occasion  served.  My 
father,  whose  manners  were  at  once  high-bred  and 
lively,  had  some  great  acquaintances ;  but  I  recollect 
none  of  them  personally,  except  an  old  lady  of  quality, 
who  (if  memory  does  not  strangely  deceive  me,  and  give 
me  a  personal  share  in  what  I  only  heard  talked  of  ;  for 
old  autobiographers  of  childhood  must  own  themselves 
liable  to  such  confusions)  astounded  me  one  day,  by 
letting  her  false  teeth  slip  out,  and  clapping  them  in 
again. 

I  had  no  idea  of  the  existence  of  such  phenomena, 
and  could  almost  as  soon  have  expected  her  to  take  off 
her  head  and  re-adjust  it.  She  lived  in  Red  Lion 
Square,  a  quarter  in  different  estimation  from  vrhat  it 
is  now.     It  was  at  her  house,  I  believe,  that  my  father 

diary  and  letters.  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Inchbald,  nee  Simpson  (1753-1821), 
became  an  actress  early  in  life.  Besides  writing  several  novels  and 
dramas,  she  edited  a  collection  of  plays  in  forty-two  vols.  ] 

52 


CHILDHOOD 

one  evening  met  Wilkes.      He  did  not  know  him  by 
sight,   and    happening  to   fall   into    conversation  with 
him,  while  the  latter  sat  looking  down,  he  said  some-  I 
thing  in  Wilkes's  disparagement ;    on  which  the  jovial  ' 
demagogue   looked   up   in   his   face,   and  burst  out  a 
laughing. 

I  do  not  exactly  know  how  people  dressed  at  that 
time  ;   but  I  believe  that  sacks,  and  negligees,  and  tou- 
pees were  going  out,  and  the  pigtail  and  the  simpler  ■ 
modern  style  of  dress  coming  in.     I  recollect  hearing  i 
my   mother  describe  the  misery  of   having    her   hair  I 
dressed  two  or  three  stories  high,  and  of  lying  in  it  all  ' 
night  ready  for  some  visit  or  spectacle  next  day.      I 
think  I  also  recollect  seeing  Wilkes  himself  in  an  old-  j! 
fashioned   flap-waistcoated   suit  of   scarlet   and   gold ;  ? 
and  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  Murphy,  the  dramatist,  a 
good  deal   later,   in  a  suit  of   a  like  fashion,  though 
soberer,   and    a  large   cocked-hat.     The  cocked-hat  in 
general  survived  till  nearly   the  present  century.     It 
was  superseded  by  the  round  one  during  the  French 
Revolution.     I  remember  our  steward  at  school,  a  very 
solemn  personage,  making  his  appearance  in  one,  to  our 
astonishment,  and  not  a  little  to  the  diminution  of  his 
dignity.     Some  years  later,  I  saw  Mr.  Pitt  in  a  blue 
coat,  buckskin  breeches  and  boots,  and  a  round  hat, 
with  powder  and  pigtail.     He  was  thin  and  gaunt,  with 
his  hat  oif  his  forehead,  and  his  nose  in  the  air, — that 
nose  on  which  Hazlitt  said  he  "  suspended  the  House  of 
Commons."      Much   about   the   same   time    I   saw   his 
friend,  the  first  Lord  Liverpool,  a  respectable  looking 
old  gentleman,  in  a  brown  wig.     Later  still,  I  saw  Mr. 
Fox,  fat  and   jovial,   though    he    was    then    declining. 
He,  who  had  been  a  "beau"  in  his  youth,  then  looked 
something  quaker-like  as  to  dress,  with  plain  coloured; 
clothes,  a  broad  round  hat,  white  waistcoat,  and,  if  Ij 
am  not  mistaken,  white  stockings.     He  was  standing! 
in  Parliament  Street,  just  where  the  street  commences  I, 
as  you  leave  Whitehall ;  and  was  making  two  young  \ 
gentlemen  laugh  heartily  at  something  which  he  seemed  ; 
to  be  relating.  S 

My  father  once  took  me — but  I  cannot  say  at  what 

53 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

ptM-ioil  of  my  juvenility — into  both  houses  of  Parlia- 
ment. In  the  Commons  I  saw  Mr.  Pitt  sawing  the  air, 
anil  oorasionally  turning  to  appeal  to  those  about  him, 
while  he  spoke  m  a  loud,  important,  and  hollow  voice. 
When  the  persons  he  appealed  to  said  "  Hear  !  hear  !" 
1  thought  they  said  "  Dear  !  dear  !  "  in  objection  ;  and 
I  wondered  that  he  did  not  seem  in  the  least  degree 
disconcerted.  The  house  of  Lords,  I  must  say  (without 
meaning  disrespect  to  an  assembly  which  must  always 
have  contained  some  of  the  most  accomplished  men  in 
the  country),  surprised  me  with  the  personally  insig- 
nificant look  of  its  members.  I  had,  to  be  sure,  con- 
ceived exaggerated  notions  of  the  magnates  of  all 
countries ;  and  perhaps  might  have  expected  to  behold 
a  set  of  conscript  fathers ;  but  in  no  respect,  real  or 
ideal,  did  they  appear  to  me  in  their  corporate  aspect, 
like  anything  which  is  understood  by  the  word  "  noble." 
The  Commons  seemed  to  me  to  have  the  advantage ; 
though  they  surprised  me  with  lounging  on  the  benches 
and  retaining  their  hats.  I  was  not  then  informed 
enough  to  know  the  difference  between  apparent  and 
substantial  importance ;  much  less  aware  of  the  posi- 
tive exaltation,  which  that  very  simplicity,  and  that 
absence  of  pretension,  gave  to  the  most  potent  assembly 
in  Europe. 


CHAPTER    III 

SCHOOL-DAYS 

[1791—1799] 

BOOKS  for  children  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
eighteenth  century  had  been  in  a  bad  way,  with 
sordid  and  merely  plodding  morals — ethics  that  were 
necessary  perhaps  for  a  certain  stage  in  the  progress  of 
commerce  and  for  its  greatest  ultimate  purposes  (un- 
dreamt of  by  itself),  but  which  thwarted  healthy  and 
large  views  of  society  for  the  time  being.      They  were 

54 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

the  consequences  of  an  altogether  unintellectual  state 
of  trade,  aided  and  abetted  by  such  helps  to  morality  as 
Hogarth's  pictures  of  the  Good  and  Bad  Apprentice,: 
which  identified  virtue  with  prosperity. 

Hogarth,  in  most  of  his  pictures,  w^as  as  healthy  a 
moralist  as  he  supposed  himself,  but  not  for  the  reasons 
which  he  supposed.  The  gods  he  worshipped  were 
Truth  and  Prudence  ;  but  he  saw  more  of  the  carnal  than 
spiritual  beauties  of  either.  He  was  somewhat  of  a  vul- 
garian in  intention  as  well  as  mode.  But  wherever  there 
is  genius,  there  is  a  genial  something  greater  than  the 
accident  of  breeding,  than  the  prevailing  disposition,  or 
even  than  the  conscious  design ;  and  this  portion  of 
divinity  within  the  painter,  saw  fair-play  between  his 
conventional  and  immortal  part.  It  put  the  beauty  of 
colour  into  his  mirth,  the  counteraction  of  mirth  into 
his  melancholy,  and  a  lesson  beyond  his  intention  into 
all :  that  is  to  say,  it  suggested  redemptions  and  first 
causes  for  the  objects  of  his  satire ;  and  thus  vindicated 
the  justice  of  nature,  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
thinking  of  little  but  the  pragmaticalness  of  art. 

The  children's  books  in  those  days  were  Hogarth's 
pictures  taken  in  their  most  literal  acceptation.  Every 
good  boy  was  to  ride  in  his  coach,  and  be  a  lord  mayor ; 
and  every  bad  boy  was  to  be  hung,  or  eaten  by  lions. 
The  gingerbread  was  gilt,  and  the  books  were  gilt  like 
the  gingerbread, — a  "take  in"  the  more  gross,  inasmuch 
as  nothing  could  be  plainer  or  less  dazzling  than  the 
books  of  the  same  boys  when  they  grew  a  little  older. 
There  was  a  lingering  old  ballad  or  so  in  favour  of  the 
gallanter  apprentices  who  tore  out  lions'  hearts  and 
astonished  gazing  sultans  ;  and  in  antiquarian  corners, 
Percy's  "  Reliques  "  were  preparing  a  nobler  age,  both 
in  poetry  and  prose.  But  the  first  counteraction  came, 
as  it  ought,  in  the  shape  of  a  new  book  for  children. 
The  pool  of  mercenary  and  time-serving  ethics  was 
first  blown  over  by  the  fresh  country  breeze  of  Mr. 
Day's^  Sandfoi^d  and  3Ierton — a  production  that  I  well 
remember,  and  shall  ever  be  grateful  to.     It  came  in 

[1  Thomas  Day  (1748-1789).  His  story,  Sandford  and  Merton, 
three  vohimes,  was  published  in  1783,  1787,  and  1789.] 

55 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

aiil  of  my  mother's  ]>crplexities  between  delicacy  and 
haitlihotxl,  hi'twoon  coiira<jfo  and  consc-ientiousnesa.  It 
assisloil  the  chooiriilness  I  inherited  from  my  father; 
sht>\ved  me  that  circumstances  were  not  to  crush  a 
health}'  j^aiety,  or  the  most  masculine  self-respect;  and 
helped  to  supply  nie  with  the  resolution  of  standing  by 
a  principle,  not  merely  as  a  point  of  lowly  or  lofty 
sacritice,  but  as  a  matter  of  common  sense  and  duty, 
and  a  simple  co-operation  with  the  elements  of  natural 
welfare.^ 

I  went,  nevertheless,  to  school  at  Christ  Hospital,  an 
ultra-sympathizing  and  timid  boy.^  The  sight  of  boys 
lighting,  from  which  I  had  been  so  anxiously  withheld, 
frightened  me  as  something  devilish;  and  the  least 
threat  of  corporal  chastisement  to  a  schoolfellow  (for 
the  lesson  I  had  learned  would  have  enabled  me  to  bear 
it  myself)  affected  me  to  tears.  I  remember  to  this  day, 
merely  on  that  account,  the  name  of  a  boy  who  was  to 
receive  punishment  for  some  offence  about  a  task.  It 
was  Lemoine.  (I  hereby  present  him  with  my  respects, 
if  he  is  an  existing  old  gentleman,  and  hoi^e  he  has  not 
lost  a  pleasing  countenance.)  He  had  a  cold  and 
hoarseness ;  and  his  voice,  while  pleading  in  mitiga- 
tion, sounded  to  me  so  pathetic,  that  I  wondered  how 
the  master  could  have  the  heart  to  strike  him. 

['  In  Leigh  Hunt's  Correspondence  is  printed  a  list  of  the  earliest 
books  that  he  could  recollect  having  read  and  ^vritten.  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  "with  cuts  which  I  then  thought  beautiful,"  is  the 
first  book  he  so  remembered.  Then  followed  Seven  Champions 
of  Christendom,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress:  "a  book  called,  I 
think,  Benignus,  or  some  such  title,  written  by  Mr.  Pratt,  which 
I  took  to  school  with  nie."  A  volume  of  Fairy  Tales  and  a, Hamlet 
*'  bound  up  by  itself."  He  did  not  remember  his  favourite  Spenser 
as  early  as  these  books,  but  at  the  age  of  twelve  he  wrote  "  several 
lines  of  a  poem  called  the  Fairy  Ring,  intended  as  a  rival  of  the 
Fairy  Queen."  His  volume  Juvenilia,  1801,  contains  The  Palace  of 
Pleasure,  a  poem  in  imitation  of  Spenser.  Before  this,  he  adds, 
*'  the  perusal  of  Thomson's  Winter  had  called  forth  a  rival  attempt 
in  rhyme."] 

^  In  1792.  [This  date  is  added  by  the  author,  but  from  the  follow- 
ing it  appears  to  be  incorrect.  The  petition  for  admission  of  Leigh 
Hunt  to  Christ's  Hospital,  given  in  Mr.  R.  B.  Johnson's  work  on 
the  School,  is  dated  April  1st,  1791.  He  was  admitted  Nov.  23rd, 
1791,  and  clothed  on  the  following  day.  Charles  Lamb  left  Christ's 
Hospital  in  1789,  and  Coleridge  in  1791;  but  their  accounts  of  the 
school  should  be  read  in  connexion  with  Hunt's  recollections.] 

56 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

Readers  who  have  been  at  a  pubHc  school  may  guess 
the  consequence.  I  was  not  of  a  disposition  to  give 
offence,  but  neither  was  I  quick  to  take  it ;  and  this,  to 
the  rude,  energy-cultivating  spirit  of  boys  in  general 
(not  the  worst  thing  in  the  world,  till  the  pain  in  pre- 
paration for  them  can  be  diminished),  was  in  itself  an 
offence.  I  therefore  "  went  to  the  wall,"  till  address, 
and  the  rousing  of  my  own  spirit,  tended  to  right  me  ; 
but  I  went  through  a  great  deal  of  fear  in  the  process. 
I  became  convinced,  that  if  I  did  not  put  moral  courage 
in  the  place  of  personal,  or,  in  other  words,  undergo 
any  stubborn  amount  of  pain  and  wretchedness,  rather 
than  submit  to  what  I  thought  wrong,  there  was  an 
end  for  ever,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  of  all  those  fine 
things  that  had  been  taught  me,  in  vindication  of  right 
and  justice. 

Whether  it  was,  however,  that  by  the  help  of  animal 
spirits  I  possessed  some  portion  of  the  courage  for 
which  the  rest  of  the  family  was  remarkable — or 
whether  I  was  a  veritable  coward,  born  or  bred, 
destined  to  show,  in  my  person,  ho^v  far  a  spirit  of 
love  and  freedom  could  supersede  the  necessity  of  gall, 
and  procure  me  the  resj)ect  of  those  about  me — certain 
it  is,  that  although,  except  in  one  instance,  I  did  my 
best  to  avoid,  and  succeeded  honourably  in  avoiding, 
those  personal  encounters  with  my  school-fellows, 
which,  in  confronting  me  on  my  own  account  with  the 
face  of  a  fellow-creature,  threw  me  upon  a  sense  of 
something  devilish,  and  overwhelmed  me  with  a  sort 
of  terror  for  both  parties,  yet  I  gained  at  an  early 
period  of  boyhood  the  reputation  of  a  romantic 
enthusiast,  whose  daring  in  behalf  of  a  friend  or  a 
good  cause  nothing  could  put  down.  I  was  obliged  to 
call  in  the  aid  of  a  feeling  apart  from  my  own  sense  of 
personal  antagonism,  and  so  merge  the  diabolical,  as  it 
were,  into  the  human.  In  others  words,  I  had  not 
self-respect  or  gall  enough  to  be  angry  on  my  own 
account,  unless  there  was  something  at  stake  which, 
by  concerning  others,  gave  me  a  sense  of  support,  and 
so  pieced  out  my  want  with  their  abundance.  The 
moment,  however,  that  I  felt  thus  supported,  not  only 

57 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

dill  all  iuisj]fiviiig  vanish  from  my  mind,  but  contempt 
of  pain  took  possession  of  my  body  ;  and  my  poor 
mother  mi^ht  have  gloried  through  her  tears  in  the 
k)ving  eoiu'age  of  her  son. 

I  state  the  case  thus  proudly,  both  in  justice  to  the 
manner  in  wliich  she  trained  me,  and  because  I  con- 
ceive it  may  do  good.  I  never  fought  with  a  boy  but 
once,  and  then  it  was  on  my  own  account ;  but  though 
I  beat  him  I  was  frightened,  and  eagerly  sought  his 
good  will.  I  dared  everything,  however,  from  the 
biggest  and  strongest  boys  on  other  accounts,  and  was 
sometimes  afforded  an  opportunity  of  showing  my 
spirit  of  martyrdom.  The  truth  is,  I  could  suffer  better 
than  act ;  for  the  utmost  activity  of  martyrdom  is 
supported  by  a  certain  sense  of  passiveness.  We  are 
not  bold  from  ourselves,  but  from  something  which 
compels  us  to  be  so,  and  which  supports  us  by  a  sense 
of  the  necessity. 

I  had  not  been  long  in  the  school,  when  this  spirit 
within  me  broke  out  in  a  manner  that  procured  me 
great  esteem.  There  was  a  monitor  or  "  big  boy  "  in 
office,  who  had  a  trick  of  entertaining  himself  by  pelt- 
ing lesser  boy's  heads  with  a  hard  ball.  He  used  to 
throw  it  at  this  boy  and  that ;  make  the  throivee  bring 
it  back  to  him ;  and  then  send  a  rap  with  it  on  his 
cerebellum,  as  he  was  going  off. 

I  had  borne  this  spectacle  one  day  for  some  time, 
when  the  family  precepts  rising  within  me,  I  said  to 
myself,  "  I  must  go  up  to  the  monitor  and  speak  to 
him  about  this."  I  issued  forth  accordingly,  and  to 
the  astonishment  of  all  present,  who  had  never  wit- 
nessed such  an  act  of  insubordination,  I  said,  "  You 
have  no  right  to  do  this."  The  monitor,  more  astounded 
than  any  one,  exclaimed  "  What  ? "  I  repeated  my 
remonstrance.  He  treated  me  with  the  greatest  con- 
tempt, as  if  disdaining  even  to  strike  me  ;  and  finished 
by  ordering  me  to  "standout."  "Standing out"  meant 
going  to  a  particular  spot  in  the  hall  where  we  dined. 
I  did  so  ;  but  just  as  the  steward  (the  master  in  that 
place)  was  entering  it,  the  monitor  called  to  me  to 
come  away ;  and  I  neither  heard  any  more  of  standing 

58 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

out,  nor  saw  any  more  of  the  ball.  I  do  not  recollect 
that  he  even  "  spited "  me  afterwards,  which  must 
have  been  thought  very  remarkable.  I  seemed  fairly 
to  have  taken  away  the  breath  of  his  calculations. 
The  probability  is,  that  he  was  a  good  lad  who  had  got| 
a  bad  habit.  Boys  often  become  tyrants  from  a  notion! 
of  its  being  grand  and  manly. 

Another  monitor,  a  year  or  two  afterwards,  took  it 
into  his  head  to  force  me  to  be  his  fag.  Fag  was  not 
the  term  at  our  school,  though  it  was  in  our  vocabu- 
lary. Fag,  with  us,  meant  eatables.  The  learned 
derived  the  word  from  the  Greek  phago,  to  eat.  I  had 
so  little  objection  to  serve  out  of  love,  that  there  is  no 
office  I  could  not  have  performed  for  good  will  ;  but  it 
had  been  given  out  that  I  had  determined  not  to 
be  a  menial  on  any  other  terms,  and  the  monitor  in 
question  undertook  to  bring  me  to  reason.  He  was 
a  mild,  good-looking  boy  about  fourteen,  remark- 
able for  the  neatness,  and  even  elegance,  of  his  ap- 
pearance. 

Receiving  the  refusal,  for  which  he  had  been  pre- 
pared, he  showed  me  a  knot  in  a  long  handkerchief, 
and  told  me  I  should  receive  a  lesson  from  that  hand- 
kerchief every  day,  with  the  addition  of  a  fresh  knot 
every  time,  unless  I  chose  to  alter  my  mind.  I  did  not 
choose.  I  received  the  daily  or  rather  nightly  lesson, 
for  it  was  then  most  convenient  to  strip  me,  and  I 
came  out  of  the  ordeal  in  triumph.  I  never  was  fag 
to  anybody ;  never  made  anybody's  bed,  or  cleaned  his 
shoes,  or  was  the  boy  to  get  his  tea,  much  less  expected 
to  stand  as  a  screen  for  him  before  the  fire ;  which  I 
have  seen  done,  though,  upon  the  whole,  the  boys 
were  very  mild  governors. 

Lamb  has  noticed  the  character  of  the  school  for 
good  manners,  which  he  truly  describes  as  being 
equally  removed  from  the  pride  of  aristocratic  founda- 
tions and  the  servility  of  the  charity  schools.  I  believe 
it  retains  this  character  still  ;  though  the  changes 
which  its  system  underwent  not  long  ago,  fusing  all  the 
schools  into  one  another,  and  introducing  a  more 
generous  diet,   is  thought  by  some  not  to  have  been 

59 


AlTOHUXJHArilY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

t'ollowocl  l)y  an  advance  in  other  respects.  I  have 
htard  the  scliool  charged,  more  hitely,  with  having 
been  sntYered,  in  the  intervals  between  the  school 
hours,  to  fall  out  of  the  liberal  and  gentlemanly  super- 
vision of  its  best  teachers,  into  the  hands  of  an  officious 
and  ignorant  sectarianism.  But  this  may  only  have 
been  a  passing  abuse. 

I  love  and  honour  the  school  on  private  accounts ; 
and  I  feel  a  public  interest  in  its  welfare,  inasmuch  as 
it  is  one  of  those  judicious  links  with  all  classes,  the 
importance  of  which,  especially  at  a  time  like  the 
present,  cannot  be  too  highly  estimated  ;  otherwise,  I 
should  have  said  nothing  to  its  possible,  and  I  hope 
transient  disadvantage.  Queen  Victoria  recognized  its 
importance,  by  visits  and  other  personal  condescen- 
sions, long  before  the  late  changes  in  Europe  could 
have  diminished  the  grace  of  their  bestowal ;  and  I 
will  venture  to  say  that  every  one  of  those  attentions 
will  have  sown  for  her  generous  nature  a  crop  of 
loyalty  worth  having. 

But  for  the  benefit  of  such  as  are  unacquainted  with 
the  city,  or  with  a  certain  track  of  reading,  I  must  give 
a  more  particular  account  of  a  school  which  in  truth  is 
a  curiosity.  Thousands  of  inhabitants  of  the  metro- 
polis have  gone  from  west-end  to  east-end,  and  till  the 
new  hall  was  laid  open  to  view  by  the  alterations  in 
Newgate  Street,  never  suspected  that  in  the  heart  of  it 
lies  an  old  cloistered  foundation,  where  a  boy  may 
grow  uji  as  I  did,  among  six  hundred  others,  and  know 
as  little  of  the  very  neighbourhood  as  the  world  does 
of  him.^ 

*  Perhaps  there  is  not  a  foundation  in  the  country  so 
•truly  English,  taking  that  word  to  mean  what  English- 
jmen  wish  it  to  mean — something  solid,  unpretending, 
jof  good  character,  and  free  to  all.  More  boys  are  to  be 
;found  in  it,  who  issue  from  a  greater  variety  of  ranks, 
than  in  any  school  in  the  kingdom ;  and  as  it  is  the 

[*  As  this  edition  is  going  through  the  press  (September,  1902) 
the  historic  building  is  being  rapidly  demolished  by  the  pick  and 
mattock  of  the  housebreaker,  the  school  having  removed  early  in 
the  year  to  Horsham.] 

60 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

most  various,  so  it  is  the  largest,  of  all  the  free  schools.. 
Nobility  do  not  go  there,  except  as  boarders.  Now  and 
then  a  boy  of  a  noble  family  may  bo  met  with,  and  ho 
is  reckoned  an  interloper,  and  against  the  charter  ;  bud 
the  sons  of  poor  gentry  and  London  citizens  abound  j 
and  with  them  an  equal  share  is  given  to  the  sons  oQ 
tradesmen  of  the  very  humblest  description,  not  oinit-j 
ting  servants.  I  would  not  take  my  oath — but  I  have 
a  strong  recollection,  that  in  my  time  there  were  twq 
boys,  one  of  whom  went  up  into  the  drawing-room  t<j 
his  father,  the  master  of  the  house  ;  and  the  othci* 
down  into  the  kitchen  to  his  father,  the  coachman; 
One  thing,  however,  I  know  to  be  certain,  and  it  is  the 
noblest  of  all,  namely,  that  the  boys  themselves  (at 
least  it  was  so  in  my  time)  had  no  sort  of  feeling  of  th© 
difference  of  one  another's  ranks  out  of  doors.  Th0 
cleverest  boy  was  the  noblest,  let  his  father  be  who  h© 
might.  Christ  Hospital  is  a  nursery  of  tradesmen,  of 
merchants,  of  naval  officers,  of  scholars  ;  it  has  pro- 
duced some  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of  their  time ; 
and  the  feeling  among  the  boys  themselves  is,  that  it  i^ 
a  medium  between  the  patrician  pretension  of  suclj 
schools  as  Eton  and  Westminster,  and  the  plebeiail 
submission  of  the  charity  schools.  In  point  of  univer4 
sity  honours  it  claims  to  be  equal  with  the  best ;  i\m\ 
though  other  schools  can  show  a  greater  abundance  of 
eminent  names,  I  know  not  where  many  will  be  found 
who  are  a  greater  host  in  themselves.  One  original 
author  is  worth  a  hundred  transmitters  of  elegances 
and  such  a  one  is  to  be  found  in  Richardson,*  who  her^ 
received  what  education  he  possessed.  Here  Camden* 
also  received  the  rudiments  of  his.  Bishop  Stillingfleet,^ 
according  to  the  Memoirs  of  Pepys,  was  brought  up  in 
the  school.     We  have  had  many  eminent  scholars,  two 

['  Samuel  Richardson,  (1680-1761)  the  novelist,  author  of  Pamela, 
Clarissa  llarlowe  and  Sir  C/uirles  Grandison.] 

[^  William  Camden  (15ol-162.'J),  the  antiquary,  author  ot  Britannia , 
educated  at  Christ's  Hospital,  St.  Paul's  School,  and  Magdalen 
College,  Oxford.] 

[^  Edward  Stillingfleet  (lO-'tt-HJOO),  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  and  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Worcester,  author  of  Oriyinea  Sacroi  and  many 
other  theological  works.  ] 

61 


.VrTOHIOGRAril  V    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

of  tluiu  (Jri'ok  i)rofossors,  to  wit,  Barnes^  and  Schole- 
iiolil,*  tlio  latter  of  whom  attained  an  extraordinary 
succession  of  luiiversity  honours.  The  rest  arc  Mark- 
hmd ;  ^  Middleton/  hite  Bishop  of  Calcutta ;  and  Mit- 
chell,'' the  translator  of  Aristo])ha7U's.  Christ  Hospital, 
I  helieve,  towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  and  the 
be«jinninjx  of  the  present,  sent  out  more  living  w^riters, 
in  its  proportion,  than  any  other  school.  There  was 
Dr.  Richards,*^  author  of  the  Aboriginal  Britons  ;  Dyer,' 
whose  life  was  one  unbroken  dream  of  learning  and 
goodness,  and  who  used  to  make  us  wonder  with  pass- 
ing through  the  school-room  (where  no  other  person  in 
"  town  clothes  "  ever  appeared)  to  consult  books  in  the 
library  ;  Le  Grice,*  the  translator  of  Longus  ;  Horne,^ 
author  of  some  w^ell-known  productions  in  controversial 
divinity  ;  Surr,^*^  the  novelist  (not  in  the  Grammar 
School)  ;  James  White,"  the  friend  of  Charles  Lamb, 

['  Joshua  Barnes  (1654-1712),  divine  and  professor  of  Greek  at 
Cambridge,  on  whose  monument  in  Hemington  Church  it  is  said 
that  he  had  read  over  a  pocket  Bible  120  times.  Besides  many 
original  works,  he  edited  editions  of  Honiei'  and  Anacreon.] 

[-  James  Scholefield  (1789-1853),  Regius  professor  of  Greek  at 
Cambridge.] 

[^  Jeremiah  Markland,  critic  (1693-1776).] 

[*  Thomas  Fanshawe  Middleton  (1769-1822),  consecrated  Bishop  in 
1814.    Lamb  savs,  he  was  "  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  in  his  teens."] 

(*  Thomas  Mitchell  (1783-1845),  Greek  scholar  and  Fellow  of  Sidney 
College,  Cambridge.     He  was  one  of  Hunt's  schoolfellows.] 

[®  George  Richards  (1767-1837)  poet  and  divine ;  he  gained  the 
prize  offered  anon>Tnously  by  Simon,  Earl  Harcourt,  in  1791  for  an 
English  poem  on  the  "Aboriginal  Britons  "  and  the  donor  became  his 
lifelong  friend.  The  poem  was  praised  by  Lamb,  and  by  Byron  in 
English  Bards  and  Scotch  Revieicers.] 

['  George  Dyer  (17.55-1841),  poet  and  scholar,  the  friend  of  Charles 
Lamb,  who  in  the  Essays  of  Elia  has  written  of  him  charmingly 
under  the  title  of  Amicus  Mediviviis,  also  O.vford  in  the  Vacation,] 

[*  Charles  Valentine  Le  Grice  (1773-1858),  afterwards  incumbent 
of  St.  Mary's,  Penzance.     See  note  on  p.  82.] 

[^  Thomas  Hartwell  Home  (1780-1862),  for  some  time  assistant- 
librarian  in  the  department  of  printed  books  at  the  British  Museiim. 
His  Introduction  to  the  Critical  Study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures 
was  published  in  1818,  and  so  pleased  the  then  Bishop  of  London, 
Dr.  Howley,  that  he  ordained  Home  in  1819,  and  later  presented 
him  with  the  living  of  St.  Ednmnd,  Lombard  Street.] 

['"  Thomjis  Skinner  Surr  (1770-1847).  He^vrote  a  poem  on  Christ's 
Hospital.  It  is  said  that  Georgiana,  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  was  so 
mortified  at  being  introduced  under  a  fictitious  name  into  his 
Winter  in  London,  that  it  hastened  her  death.] 

["  James  White  (1775-1820),  see  Lamb's  Essav,   "The   Praise  of 

62 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

and  not  unworthy  of  him,  author  of  Falstaff's  Letters 
(this  was  he  who  used  to  give  an  anniversary  dinner  to 
the  chimney-sweepers,  merrier  than,  though  not  so 
magnificent  as  Mrs.  Montagu's^) ;  Pitman,^  a  celebrated 
preacher,  editor  of  some  school-books  and  religious 
classics  (also  a  veritable  man  of  wit)  ;  Mitchell,  before 
mentioned  ;  myself,  who  stood  next  him  ;  Barnes,^  who 
came  next,  the  Editor  of  the  Times,  than  whom  no  man 
(if  he  had  cared  for  it)  could  have  been  more  certain  of 
attaining  celebrity  for  wit  and  literature ;  Townsend,* 
a  prebendary  of  Durham,  author  of  Armageddon,  and 
several  theological  works  (it  was  he  who  went  to  see 
the  Pope,  in  the  hope  of  persuading  him  to  concede 
points  towards  the  amalgamation  of  the  Papal  and 
Protestant  Churches) ;  Gilly,^  another  of  the  Dur- 
ham prebendaries,  an  amiable  man,  who  w^rote  the 
Narrative  of  the  Waldenses  ;  Scargill,*^  a  Unitarian 
minister,  author  of  some  tracts  on  Peace  and  War, 
etc. ;  and  lastly,  whom  I  have  kept  by  way  of 
climax,  Coleridge  and  Charles  Lamb,  two  of  the 
most  original  geniuses,  not  only  of  the  day,  but  of  the 
country.  '■, 

In   the  time  of    Henry  the  Eighth  Christ   Hospital,| 
was  a  monastery  of  Franciscan  friars.     Being  dissolved  I 
among  the    others,    Edward    the    Sixth,    moved    by    a 
sermon  of  Bishop  Ridley's,  assigned  the  revenues  of  it 
to  the  maintenance  and  education  of  a  certain  number 


Chimney  Sweepers "   in  Elia.      Lamb  is  supposed  to  have  had  a 
hand  in  the  Falstaff  Letters,  published  1796.] 

['  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Montagu — nee  Robinson — (1720-1800),  authoress 
and  bluestocking,  she  used  to  entertain  youthful  chimney  sweepers 
every  May  Day  morning  on  her  lawn  with  roast  beef  and  plum 
pudding.] 

[^  John  Rogers  Pitman  (1782-1861),  divine  and  author.] 

['  Thomas  Barnes  (1785-1841)  another  of  Hunt's  friends  at  school. 
It  was  from  Barnes  that  he  learnt  Italian.] 

[*  George  Townsend  (1788-1857),  Armageddon,  a  poem,  was  pub- 
lished in  1816.] 

[*  William  Stephen  Gilly  (1789-18.55).  Besides  the  Prebendary  of 
Durham,  he  was  presented  in  1851  to  the  Vicarage  of  Norham, 
Northumberland.  His  works  are  numerous  and  chiefly  theo- 
logical.] 

P  William  Pitt  Scargill  (1787-1836).  Author  of  An  Essay  on  War, 
and  some  novels.] 

63 


ArTor.Kxiiv'Arii  V   of   leigh  hunt 

of  poor  orpliaii  I'liildrcii,  l)()ni  ot"  citi/ciis  ot"  London.  I 
hrlirvi'  tlu'it^  Ims  hern  no  law  passed  to  alter  the  k^tt(M* 
of  this  intention  ;  whicli  is  a  pity,  since  the  alteration 
has  taken  place.  An  extension  of  it  was  probably  very 
good,  and  even  demanded  by  circumstances.  I  have 
reason,  for  one,  to  be  grateful  for  it.  Ikit  tainperinj^ 
with  matters-of-fact  among  children  is  danj^erous.  They 
soon  learn  to  distinguish  between  allowed  poetical  fiction 
and  that  which  they  are  told,  under  severe  penalties, 
never  to  be  guilty  of ;  and  this  early  sample  of  contra- 
diction between  the  thing  asserted  and  the  obvious 
fact,  can  do  no  good  even  in  an  establishment  so  plain- 
dealing  in  other  respects  as  Christ  Hospital.  The  place 
is  not  only  designated  as  an  Orphan-house  in  its  Latin 
title,  but  the  boys,  in  the  prayers  which  they  repeat 
every  day,  implore  the  pity  of  heaven  upon  "  us  poor 
orijhans."  I  remember  the  perplexity  this  caused  me 
at  a  very  early  period.  It  is  true,  the  word  orphan 
may  be  used  in  a  sense  implying  destitution  of  any 
sort ;  but  this  was  not  its  Christ  Hospital  intention  ; 
nor  do  the  younger  boys  give  it  the  benefit  of  that 
scholarly  interpretation.  There  was  another  thing 
(now,  I  believe,  done  away)  which  existed  in  my  time, 
and  perplexed  me  still  more.  It  seemed  a  glaring 
instance  of  the  practice  likely  to  result  from  the  other 
assumption,  and  made  me  prepare  for  a  hundred  false- 
hoods and  deceptions,  which,  mixed  up  with  contradic- 
tion, as  most  things  in  society  are,  I  sometimes  did 
find,  and  oftener  dreaded.  I  allude  to  a  foolish  custom 
they  had  in  the  ward  which  I  first  entered,  and  which 
w^as  the  only  one  that  the  company  at  the  public  sup- 
pers were  in  the  habit  of  going  into,  of  hanging  up,  by 
the  side  of  each  bed,  a  clean  white  napkin,  which  was 
supposed  to  be  the  one  used  by  the  occupiers.  Now 
these  napkins  were  only  for  show,  the  real  towels  being 
of  the  largest  and  coarsest  kind.  If  the  masters  had 
been  asked  about  them,  they  would  doubtless  have  told 
the  truth  ;  perhaps  the  nurses  would  have  done  so. 
But  the  boys  were  not  aware  of  this.  There  they  saw 
these  "  white  lies  "  hanging  before  them,  a  conscious 
imposition  ;  and  I  well  remember  how  alarmed  I  used 

64 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

to   feel,  lest  any  of  the  company  should  direct  their  | 
inquiries  to  me.  i 

Christ  Hospital  (for  this  is  its  proper  name,  and  not  | 
Christ's  Hospital)  occupies  a.  considerable  portion  of  | 
ground  between  Newgate  Street,  Giltspur  Street,  St.  | 
Bartholomew's,  and  Little  Britain.  There  is  a  quad-  I 
rangle  with  cloisters  ;  and  the  square  inside  the  cloisters  | 
is  called  the  Garden,  and  most  likely  was  the  monastery  | 
garden.  Its  only  delicious  crop,  for  many  years,  has  | 
been  pavement.  Another  large  area,  presenting  the  | 
Grammar  and  Navigation  Schools,  is  also  misnomered  |: 
the  Ditch  ;  the  town-ditch  having  formerly  run  that  } 
w^ay.  In  Newgate  Street  is  seen  the  Hall,  or  eating-  | 
room,  one  of  the  noblest  in  England,  adorned  with  | 
enormously  long  paintings  by  Verrio  and  others,  and  i 
with  an  organ.  A  portion  of  the  old  quadrangle  once  j;: 
contained  the  library  of  the  monks,  and  was  built  or 
repaired  by  the  famous  Whittington,  whose  arms  w^ere 
to  be  seen  outside  ;  but  alterations  of  late  years  have 
done  it  away. 

In  the  cloisters  a  number  of  persons  lie  buried, 
besides  the  officers  of  the  house.  Among  them  is  , 
Isabella,  wife  of  Edward  the  Second,  the  "  She-wolf  of  | 
France."  I  was  not  aware  of  this  circumstance  then  ;  '{i 
but  many  a  time,  with  a  recollection  of  some  lines  in  | 
"  Blair's  Grave  "  upon  me,  have  I  run  as  hard  as  I  could  ;| 
at  night-time  from  my  ward  to  another,  in  order  to  |: 
borrow  the  next  volume  of  some  ghostly  romance.  In  | 
one  of  the  cloisters  w^as  an  impression  resembling  a  t, 
gigantic  foot,  which  w^as  attributed  by  some  to  the  | 
angry  stamping  of  the  ghost  of  a  beadle's  wife  !  A  | 
beadle  was  a  higher  sound  to  us  than  to  most,  as  it  | 
involved  ideas  of  detected  apples  in  churchtime,  "  skulk-  | 
ing "  (as  it  was  called)  out  of  bounds,  and  a  power  of  ^ 
reporting  us  to  the  masters.  But  fear  does  not  stand  « 
upon  rank  and  ceremony.  I 

The  wards,  or  sleeping-rooms,  are  twelve,  and  con-  V 
tained,  in  my  time,  rows  of  beds  on  each  side,  partitioned  | 
off,  but  connected  with  one  another,  and  each  having 
two  boys  to  sleep  in  it.    Down  the  middle  ran  the  binns 
for  holding  bread  and  other  things,  and  serving  for  a 

65  P 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

tjible  when  the  meal  was  not  taken  in  the  hall ;  and 
over  the  binns  hun^  a  ^reat  homely  chandelier. 

To  each  of  those  wards  a  nurse  was  assigned,  who 
was  the  widow  of  some  decent  liveryman  of  London, 
?\nd  who  had  the  charge  of  looking  after  us  at  night- 
time, seeing  to  our  washing,  etc.,  and  carving  for  us  at 
dinner  :  all  of  which  gave  her  a  good  deal  of  power, 
more  than  her  name  warranted.  The  nurses,  however, 
were  almost  invariably  very  decent  people,  and  per- 
formed their  duty  ;  which  was  not  always  the  case  with 
the  young  ladies,  their  daughters.  There  were  five 
schools  ;  a  grammar  school,  a  mathematical  or  naviga- 
tion school  (added  by  Charles  the  Second,  through  the 
zeal  of  Mr.  Pepys),  a  writing,  a  drawing,  and  a  reading 
school.  Those  who  could  not  read  when  they  came  on 
the  foundation,  w^ent  into  the  last.  There  were  few  in 
the  last-but-one,  and  I  scarcely  know  w^hat  they  did,  or 
for  what  object.  The  writing-school  was  for  those  who 
were  intended  for  trade  and  commerce  ;  the  mathe- 
matical, for  boys  who  went  as  midshipmen  into  the 
naval  and  East  India  service  ;  and  the  grammar  school 
for  such  as  were  designed  for  the  Church,  and  to  go  to 
the  University.  The  writing  school  was  by  far  the 
largest ;  and,  w^hat  is  very  curious  (it  has  been  altered 
since),  all  the  schools  were  kept  quite  distinct ;  so  that 
a  boy  might  arrive  at  the  age  of  fifteen  in  the  grammar 
school,  and  not  know  his  multiplication-table  ;  which 
was  the  case  with  myself,  Nor  do  I  know  it  to  this 
day  !  Shades  of  Horace  Walpole,^  and  Lord  Lyttelton  ! 
come  to  my  assistance,  and  enable  me  to  bear  the  con- 
fession :  but  so  it  is.  The  fault  was  not  my  fault  at 
the  time  ;  but  I  ought  to  have  repaired  it  when  I  went 
out  into  the  world  ;  and  great  is  the  mischief  which  it 
has  done  me. 

,'  Most  of  these  schools  had  several  masters ;  besides 
.fjvhom  there  was  a  steward,  who  took  care  of  our  sub- 
'jBistence,  and  w^ho  had  a  general  superintendence  over 
■all  hours  and  circumstances  not  connected  with  teach- 

[^  "I  was  always  so  incapable  of  learning  mathematics,  that  I 
could  not  even  get  beyond  the  multiplication  table." — Horace 
Walpole  to  Miss  Berry,  August  16,  1796.] 

66 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

ing.  The  masters  had  almost  all  been  in  the  school^ 
and  might  expect  pensions  or  livings  in  their  old  ageJi 
Among  those  in  my  time,  the  mathematical  mastei^ 
was  Mr.  Wales/  a  man  well  known  for  his  science; 
who  had  been  round  the  world  with  Captain  Cook; 
for  which  we  highly  venerated  him.  He  was  a  good 
man,  of  plain,  simple  manners,  w^ith  a  heavy  large 
person  and  a  benign  countenance.  When  he  was  at 
Otaheite,  the  natives  played  him  a  trick  while  bathing, 
and  stole  his  small-clothes ;  which  we  used  to  think  a 
liberty  scarcely  credible.  The  name  of  the  steward,  a 
thin  stiff  man  of  invincible  formality  of  demeanour^ 
admirably  fitted  to  render  encroachment  impossible^' 
was  Hathaway.  We  of  the  grammar-school  used  to 
call  him  "  the  Yeoman,"  on  account  of  Shakespeare 
having  married  the  daughter  of  a  man  of  that  name,^ 
designated  as  "  a  substantial  yeoman."  | 

Our  dress  was  of  the  coarsest  and  quaintest  kind, 
but  was  respected  out  of  doors,  and  is  so.  It  consisted 
of  a  blue  drugget  gown,  or  body,  with  ample  skirts  to 
it ;  a  yellow  vest  underneath  in  winter-time ;  small-^ 
clothes  of  Russia  duck  ;  worsted  yellow  stockings  ;  ai 
leathern  girdle ;  and  a  little  black  worsted  cap,  usually 
carried  in  the  hand.  I  believe  it  was  the  ordinary 
dress  of  children  in  humble  life  during  the  reign  of  the 
Tudors.  We  used  to  flatter  ourselves  that  it  was 
taken  from  the  monks  ;  and  there  went  a  monstrous; 
tradition,  that  at  one  period  it  consisted  of  blue  velvet 
with  silver  buttons.  It  was  said,  also,  that  during  the 
blissful  era  of  the  blue  velvet,  we  had  roast  mutton 
for  supper,  but  that  the  small-clothes  not  being  then 
in  existence,  and  the  mutton  suppers  too  luxurious,  the 
eatables  were  given  up  for  the  ineffables. 

A  malediction,  at  heart,  always  followed  the  memory  * 
of  him  who  had  taken  upon  himself  to  decide  so  pre- 
posterously. To  say  the  truth,  we  were  not  too  well 
fed  at  that  time,  either  in  quantity  or  quality ;  and  we 
could  not  enter  with  our  hungry  imaginations  into 
these  remote  philosophies.     Our  breakfast  was  bread 

['  William  Wales,  F.R.S.  (1734P-1798).    He  was  elected  in  1775  to 
the  mastership,  which  position  he  retained  until  his  death.] 

67 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

and  water,  for  the  beer  was  too  bad  to  drink.  The 
broa<l  consisted  of  the  half  of  a  three-halfpenny  loaf, 
ac('orilin<x  to  the  prices  then  current.  This  was  not 
much  for  growing  boys,  who  had  had  nothing  to  eat 
from  six  or  seven  o'clock  the  preceding  evening.  For 
dinner  we  had  the  same  quantity  of  bread,  with  meat 
only  every  other  day,  and  that  consisting  of  a  small 
slice,  such  as  would  be  given  to  an  infant  three  or  four 
years  old.  Yet  even  that,  w^ith  all  our  hunger,  we 
very  often  left  half-eaten — the  meat  was  so  tough. 
On  the  other  days  we  had  a  milk-porridge,  ludicrously 
thin  ;  or  rice-milk,  which  was  better.  There  were  no 
vegetables  or  puddings.  Once  a  month  we  had  roast 
beef ;  and  twice  a  year  (I  blush  to  think  of  the  eager- 
ness with  which  it  was  looked  for  !)  a  dinner  of  pork. 
One  was  roast,  and  the  other  boiled  ;  and  on  the  latter 
occasion  we  had  our  only  pudding,  which  was  of  peas. 
I  blush  to  remember  this,  not  on  account  of  our  poverty, 
but  on  account  of  the  sordidness  of  the  custom.  There 
had  much  better  have  been  none.  For  supper  we  had 
a  like  piece  of  bread,  with  butter  or  cheese ;  and  then 
to  bed,  "  with  what  appetite  we  might." 

Our  routine  of  life  was  this.  We  rose  to  the  call  of 
a  bell,  at  six  in  summer,  and  seven  in  w^inter ;  and  after 
combing  ourselves,  and  w^ashing  our  hands  and  faces, 
went,  at  the  call  of  another  bell,  to  breakfast.  All 
this  took  up  about  an  hour.  From  breakfast  we  pro- 
ceeded to  school,  where  we  remained  till  eleven,  winter 
and  summer,  and  then  had  an  hour's  play.  Dinner 
took  place  at  twelve.  Afterwards  was  a  little  play 
till  one,  when  we  again  w^ent  to  school,  and  remained 
till  five  in  summer  and  four  in  winter.  At  six  was  the 
'supper.  We  used  to  play  after  it  in  summer  till  eight. 
In  winter,  we  proceeded  from  supper  to  bed.  On 
Sundays,  the  school-time  of  the  other  days  was  occu- 
pied in  church,  both  morning  and  evening ;  and  as  the 
iBible  was  read  to  us  every  day  before  every  meal,  and 
jon  going  to  bed,  besides  prayers  and  graces,  we  rivalled 
khe  monks  in  the  religious  part  of  our  duties. 
5  The  effect  was  certainly  not  what  was  intended. 
The  Bible,  perhaps,  was  read  thus  frequently,  in  the 

68 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

first  instance,  out  of  contradiction  to  the  papal  spirit 
that  had  so  long  kept  it  locked  up ;  but,  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  the  repetition  was  not  so  desirable 
among  a  parcel  of  hungry  boys,  anxious  to  get  their 
modicum  to  eat.  On  Sunday,  what  with  the  long  ser- 
vice in  the  morning,  the  service  again  after  dinner,  and 
the  inaudible  and  indifferent  tones  of  some  of  the 
preachers,  it  was  unequivocally  tiresome.  I,  for  one, 
who  had  been  piously  brought  up,  and  continued  to 
have  religion  inculcated  on  me  by  father  and  mother, 
began  secretly  to  become  as  indifferent  as  I  thought 
the  preachers ;  and,  though  the  morals  of  the  school 
were  in  the  main  excellent  and  exemplary,  we  all  felt, 
without  knowing  it,  that  it  was  the  orderliness  and 
example  of  the  general  system  that  kept  us  so,  and  not 
the  religious  part  of  it,  which  seldom  entered  our  heads 
at  all,  and  only  tired  us  when  it  did. 

I  am  not  begging  any  question  here,  or  speaking  for 
or  against.  I  am  only  stating  a  fact.  Others  may 
argue  that,  however  superfluous  the  readings  and 
prayers  might  have  been,  a  good  general  spirit  of  re- 
ligion must  have  been  inculcated,  because  a  great  deal 
of  virtue  and  religious  charity  is  known  to  have  issued 
out  of  that  school,  and  no  fanaticism.  I  shall  not  dis- 
pute the  point.  The  case  is  true  ;  but  not  the  less  true 
is  what  I  speak  of.  Latterly  there  came,  as  our  parish 
clergyman,  Mr.  Crowther,  a  nephew  of  our  famous 
Richardson,  and  worthy  of  the  talents  and  virtues  of 
his  kinsman,  though  inclining  to  a  mode  of  faith  which 
is  supposed  to  produce  more  faith  than  charity.  But, 
till  then,  the  persons  who  were  in  the  habit  of  getting 
up  in  our  church  pulpit  and  reading-desk,  might  as 
well  have  hummed  a  tune  to  their  diaphragms.  They 
inspired  us  with  nothing  but  mimicry.  The  name  of 
the  morning  reader  was  Salt.  He  was  a  worthy  man, 
I  believe,  and  might,  for  aught  we  knew,  have  been  a 
clever  one ;  but  he  had  it  all  to  himself.  He  spoke  in 
his  throat,  with  a  sound  as  if  he  were  weak  and  corpu- 
lent ;  and  was  famous  among  us  for  saying  "  murracles" 
instead  of  "miracles."  When  we  imitated  him,  this 
was  the  only  word  we  drew  upon :  the  rest  was  unin- 

69 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

t«>lliij:il)K'  siifTocation.  Our  usual  evening  preacher  was 
Mr.  Saiulil'ortl,  who  had  the  reputation  of  learning  and 
piety.  It  was  of  no  use  to  us,  except  to  make  us 
associate  the  ideas  of  learning  and  piety  in  the  pulpit 
with  inaudible  humdrum.  Mr.  Sandiford's  voice  was 
hollow  and  low ;  and  he  had  a  habit  of  dipping  up  and 
down  over  his  book,  like  a  chicken  drinking.  Mr.  Salt 
was  eminent  for  a  single  word.  Mr.  Sandiford  sur- 
passed him,  for  he  had  two  audible  phrases.  There 
was,  it  is  true,  no  great  variety  in  them.  One  was 
"  the  dispensation  of  Moses  "  ;  the  other  (with  a  due 
interval  of  hum),  "  the  Mosaic  dispensation."  These 
he  used  to  repeat  so  often,  that  in  our  caricatures  of 
him  they  sufficed  for  an  entire  portrait.  The  reader 
may  conceive  a  large  church  (it  was  Christ  Church, 
Newgate  Street),  with  six  hundred  boys,  seated  like 
charity-children  up  in  the  air,  on  each  side  of  the  organ, 
Mr.  Sandiford  humming  in  the  valley,  and  a  few^  maid- 
servants who  formed  his  afternoon  congregation.  We 
did  not  dare  to  go  to  sleep.  We  were  not  allowed  to 
read.  The  great  boys  used  to  get  those  that  sat  be- 
hind them  to  play  with  their  hair.  Some  whispered 
to  their  neighbours,  and  the  others  thought  of  their 
lessons  and  tops.  I  can  safely  say  that  many  of  us 
w^ould  have  been  good  listeners,  and  most  of  us  atten- 
tive ones,  if  the  clergyman  could  have  been  heard.  As 
it  was,  I  talked  as  well  as  the  rest,  or  thought  of  my 
exercise.  Sometimes  we  could  not  help  joking  and 
laughing  over  our  w^eariness ;  and  then  the  fear  was, 
lest  the  steward  had  seen  us.  It  was  part  of  the  busi- 
ness of  the  steward  to  preside  over  the  boys  in  church- 
time.  He  sat  aloof,  in  a  place  w^here  he  could  view  the 
whole  of  his  flock.  There  was  a  ludicrous  kind  of  re- 
venge we  had  of  him,  whenever  a  particular  part  of 
the  Bible  was  read.  This  was  the  parable  of  the  Unjust 
Steward.  The  boys  waited  anxiously  till  the  passage 
commenced ;  and  then,  as  if  by  a  general  conspiracy, 
at  the  words  "thou  unjust  steward,"  the  whole  school 
turned  their  eyes  upon  this  unfortunate  officer,  who  sat 
"Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas  unremoved."  * 
[*  Paradise  Lost,  Book  iv.  line  987.] 

70 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

We  persuaded  ourselves,  that  the  more  unconscious  he 
looked,  the  more  he  was  acting. 

By  a  singular  chance,  there  were  two  clergymen, [ 
occasional  preachers  in  our  pulpit,  who  were  as  loud] 
and  startling  as  the  others  were  somniferous.  One  of; 
them,  with  a  sort  of  flat,  high  voice,  had  a  remarkable 
way  of  making  a  ladder  of  it,  climbing  higher  and 
higher  to  the  end  of  the  sentence.  It  ought  to  be 
described  by  the  gamut,  or  written  up-hill.  Perhaps  it 
was  an  association  of  ideas,  that  has  made  me  recol- 
lect one  particular  passage.  It  is  where  Ahab  consults 
the  prophets,  asking  them  whether  he  shall  go  up  to 
Ramoth  Gilead  to  battle.  "  Shall  I  go  against  Ramoth 
Gilead  to  battle,  or  shall  I  forbear  ?  and  they  said.  Go 
up ;  for  the  Lord  shall  deliver  it  into  the  hand  of  the 
king."  He  used  to  give  this  out  in  such  a  manner,  that 
you  might  have  fancied  him  climbing  out  of  the  pulpit, 
sword  in  hand.  The  other  was  a  tall  thin  man,  with 
a  noble  voice.  He  would  commence  a  prayer  in  a  most 
stately  and  imposing  manner,  full  both  of  dignity  and 
feeling ;  and  then,  as  if  tired  of  it,  would  hurry  over 
all  the  rest.  Indeed,  he  began  every  prayer  in  this 
way,  and  was  as  sure  to  hurry  it ;  for  w^hich  reason, 
the  boys  hailed  the  sight  of  him,  as  they  knew  they 
should  get  sooner  out  of  church.  When  he  commenced, 
in  his  noble  style,  the  band  seemed  to  tremble  against 
his  throat,  as  though  it  had  been  a  sounding-board. 

Being  able  to  read,  and  knowing  a  little  Latin,  I  was 
put  at  once  into  the  Under  Grammar  School.  How 
much  time  I  wasted  there  in  learning  the  accidence 
and  syntax,  I  cannot  say ;  but  it  seems  to  me  a  long 
while.  My  grammar  seemed  always  to  open  at  the 
same  place.  Things  are  managed  differently  now,  I 
believe,  in  this  as  well  as  in  many  other  respects. 
Great  improvements  have  been  made  in  the  whole 
establishment.  The  boys  feed  better,  learn  better,  and 
have  longer  holidays  in  the  country.  In  my  time  they 
never  slept  out  of  the  school,  but  on  one  occasion, 
during  the  whole  of  their  stay  ;  this  was  for  three 
weeks  in  summer-time,  w^hich  they  were  bound  to  pass 
at  a  certain  distance  from  London.     They  now  have 

71 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

these  holidays  with  a  reasonable  frequency;  and  they 
all  go  to  the  difYerent  schools,  instead  of  being  con- 
fined, as  they  were  then,  some  to  nothing  but  writing 
and  cyphering,  and  some  to  the  languages.  It  has  been 
doubted  by  some  of  us  elders,  whether  this  system  will 
beget  such  temperate,  proper  students,  with  pale  faces, 
as  the  other  did.  I  dare  say  our  successors  are  not 
afi"iid  of  us.  I  had  the  pleasure,  some  years  since,  of 
dining  in  company  with  a  Deputy  Grecian,  who,  with 
a  stout  rosy-faced  person,  had  not  failed  to  acquire  the 
scholarly  turn  for  joking  which  is  common  to  a  classi- 
cal education ;  as  well  as  those  simple,  becoming  man- 
ners, made  up  of  modesty  and  proper  confidence,  which 
have  been  often  remarked  as  distinguishing  the  boys 
on  this  foundation. 

"  But  what  is  a  Deputy  Grecian  ? "  Ah,  reader  !  to 
ask  that  question,  and  at  the  same  time  to  know  any- 
thing at  all  worth  knowing,  would  at  one  time,  accord- 
ing to  our  notion  of  things,  have  been  impossible. 
Wben  I  entered  the  school,  I  was  shown  three  gigantic 
boys,  young  men  rather  (for  the  eldest  was  between 
seventeen  and  eighteen),  who,  I  was  told,  were  going 
to  the  University.  These  were  the  Grecians.  They 
were  the  three  head  boys  of  the  Grammar  School,  and 
were  understood  to  have  their  destiny  fixed  for  the 
Church.  The  next  class  to  these,  like  a  College  of 
Cardinals  to  those  three  Popes  (for  every  Grecian  was 
in  our  eyes  infallible),  were  the  Deputy  Grecians.  The 
former  were  supposed  to  have  completed  their  Greek 
studies,  and  ^vere  deep  in  Sophocles  and  Euripides. 
The  latter  were  thought  equally  competent  to  tell  you 
anything  respecting  Homer  and  Demosthenes.  These 
two  classes,  and  the  head  boys  of  the  Navigation  School, 
held  a  certain  rank  over  the  whole  place,  both  in  school 
and  out.  Indeed,  the  whole  of  the  Navigation  School, 
upon  the  strength  of  their  cultivating  their  valour  for 
the  navy,  and  being  called  King's  Boys,  had  succeeded 
in  establishing  an  extraordinary  pretension  to  respect. 
This  they  sustained  in  a  manner  as  laughable  to  call 
to  mind  as  it  was  grave  in  its  reception.  It  was  an 
etiquette  among  them  never  to  move  out  of  a  right 

72 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

line  as  they  walked,  whoever  stood  in  their  way.  I 
believe  there  was  a  secret  understanding  with  Grecians 
and  Deputy  Grecians,  the  former  of  whom  were  un- 
questionably lords  paramount  in  point  of  fact,  and 
stood  and  walked  aloof  when  all  the  rest  of  the  school 
were  marshalled  in  bodies.  I  do  not  remember  any 
clashing  between  these  civil  and  naval  powers  ;  but  I 
remember  well  my  astonishment  when  I  first  beheld 
some  of  my  little  comrades  overthrown  by  the  progress 
of  one  of  these  very  straightforward  marine  person- 
ages, who  walked  on  with  as  tranquil  and  unconscious 
a  face  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  It  was  not  a  fierce- 
looking  push  ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  intention  in  it. 
The  insolence  lay  in  the  boy  not  appearing  to  know 
that  such  inferior  creatures  existed.  It  was  always 
thus,  wherever  he  came.  If  aware,  the  boys  got  out 
of  his  way ;  if  not,  down  they  went,  one  or  more ; 
away  rolled  the  top  or  the  marbles,  and  on  walked  the 
future  captain— 

"In  maiden  navigation,  frank  and  free."  ^ 

These  boys  wore  a  badge  on  the  shoulder,  of  which 
they  were  very  proud  ;  though  in  the  streets  it  must 
have  helped  to  confound  them  with  charity  boys.  For 
charity  boys,  I  must  own,  we  all  had  a  great  contempt, 
or  thought  so.  We  did  not  dare  to  know  that  there 
might  have  been  a  little  jealousy  of  our  own  position 
in  it,  placed  as  we  were  midway  between  the  homeli- 
ness of  the  common  charity-school  and  the  dignity  of 
the  foundations.  We  called  them  "  chizzy-ivags"  and 
had  a  particular  scorn  and  hatred  of  their  nasal  tone 
in  singing. 

The  under  grammar-master,  in  my  time,  was  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Field. ^  He  was  a  good-looking  man,  very 
gentlemanly,  and  always  dressed  at  the  neatest.  I 
believe  he  once  wrote  a  play.     He  had  the  reputation 

[^  "  In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free."  Midsummer  Night's 
Dreatn,  Act  I.  Sc.  1.] 

[*  Rev.  Matthew  Field  was  master  from  1776  to  1796  when  he 
retired,  having  obtained  preferment  in  the  Church  of  St.  Pauls.  He 
died  in  August,  1796.  His  play  is  entitled  Vertumnus  and  Pomonia ; 
a  subject  dealt  with  by  Hunt  himself  in  Tfie  Companion.  ] 

73 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

of  being  jidniiretl  b^'  the  ladies.  A  man  of  a  more 
lianilsonie  incompetence  for  bis  situation  perhaps  did 
not  exist.  He  came  bite  of  a  morning  ;  went  away 
sot)n  in  the  attcrnoon  ;  and  vised  to  walk  up  and  down, 
languidly  bearing  his  cane,  as  if  it  were  a  lily,*  and 
hearing  our  eternal  Dominuses  and  As  in  prcesentis 
with  an  air  of  ineffable  endurance.  Often  he  did  not 
hear  at  all.  It  was  a  joke  with  us,  when  any  of  our 
friends  came  to  the  door,  and  we  asked  his  permission 
to  go  to  them,  to  address  him  with  some  preposterous 
question  wide  of  the  mark,  to  which  he  used  to  assent. 
We  would  say,  for  instance,  "  Are  you  not  a  great  fool, 
sir  ?"  or,  "  Isn't  your  daughter  a  pretty  girl  ?  "  to  which 
he  would  reply,  "  Yes,  child."  When  he  condescended 
to  hit  us  with  the  cane,  he  made  a  face  as  if  he  were 
taking  physic.  Miss  Field,  an  agreeable-looking  girl, 
was  one  of  the  goddesses  of  the  school ;  as  far  above 
us  as  if  she  had  lived  on  Olympus.  Another  was  Miss 
Patrick,  daughter  of  the  lamp-manufacturer  in  Newgate 
Street.  I  do  not  remember  her  face  so  well,  not  seeing 
it  so  often,  but  she  abounded  in  admirers.  I  write  the 
names  of  these  ladies  at  full  length  because  there  is 
nothing  that  should  hinder  their  being  pleased  at  having 
caused  us  so  many  agreeable  visions.  We  used  to  identify 
them  with  the  picture  of  Venus  in  Tooke's  Pantheon. 

The  other  master,  the  upper  one,  Boyer^ — famous 
for  the  mention  of  him  by  Coleridge  and  Lamb — was 
a  short  stout  man,  inclining  to  punchiness,  w^ith  large 
face  and  hands,  an  aquiline  nose,  long  upper  lip,  and 
a  sharp  mouth.  His  eye  ^was  close  and  cruel.  The 
spectacles  which  he  wore  threw  a  balm  over  it.  Being 
a  clergyman,  he  dressed  in  black,  with  a  powdered  wig. 
His  clothes  were  cut  short ;  his  hands  hung  out  of 
the  sleeves,  with  tight  wristbands,  as  if  ready  for 
execution ;  and  as  he  generally  wore  gray  -worsted 
stockings,  very  tight,  w^ith  a  little  balustrade  leg,  his 

('  "Field  never  used  the  rod ;  and  in  truth  he  wielded  the  cane 
with  no  great  goodwill — holding  it  '  like  a  dancer.'  It  looked  in 
his  hands  rather  like  an  emblem  than  an  instrument  of  authority  ; 
and  an  emblem,  too,  he  was  ashamed  of."   Lamb's  Christ's  Hospital.] 

[^  Rev.  James  Boyer  held  his  post  at  Christ's  Hospital  from  1776 
to  1799.] 

74 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

whole  appearance  presented  something  formidably 
succinct,  hard,  and  mechanical.  In  fact,  his  weak  side, 
and  undoubtedly  his  natural  destination,  lay  in  car- 
pentry ;  and  he  accordingly  carried,  in  a  side-pocket 
made  on  purpose,  a  carpenter's  rule. 

The  merits  of  Boyer  consisted  in  his  being  a  good 
verbal  scholar,  and  conscientiously  acting  up  to  the 
letter  of  time  and  attention.  I  have  seen  him  nod  at 
the  close  of  the  long  svimmer  school-hours,  wearied 
out ;  and  I  should  have  pitied  him  if  he  had  taught 
us  to  do  anything  but  fear.  Though  a  clergyman,  very 
orthodox,  and  of  rigid  morals,  he  indulged  himself  in 
an  oath,  which  was  "  God's-my-life  ! "  When  you  were 
out  in  your  lesson,  he  turned  upon  you  a  round  staring 
eye  like  a  fish ;  and  he  had  a  trick  of  pinching  you 
under  the  chin,  and  by  the  lobes  of  the  ears,  till  he 
would  make  the  blood  come.  He  has  many  times  lifted 
a  boy  off  the  ground  in  this  way.  He  was,  indeed,  a 
proper  tyrant,  passionate  and  capricious  ;  would  take 
violent  likes  and  dislikes  to  the  same  boys  ;  fondle  some 
w^ithout  any  apparent  reason,  though  he  had  a  leaning 
to  the  servile,  and,  perhaps,  to  the  sons  of  rich  people  ; 
and  he  would  persecute  others  in  a  manner  truly  fright- 
ful.    I  have  seen  him  beat  a  sickly-looking,  melancholy 

boy  (C n)^  about  the  head  and   ears  till  the  poor 

fellow,  hot,    dry-eyed,    and    confused,    seemed    lost    in 

bewilderment.     C n,  not  long  after  he  took  orders, 

died,  out  of  his  senses.  I  do  not  attribute  that  catas- 
trophe to  the  master  ;  and  of  course  he  could  not  wish 
to  do  him  any  lasting  mischief.  He  had  no  imagina- 
tion of  any  sort.  But  there  is  no  saying  how  far  his 
treatment  of  the  boy  might  have  contributed  to  pre- 
vent a  cure.  Tyrannical  school-masters  nowadays  are 
to  be  found,  perhaps,  exclusively  in  such  inferior  schools 
as  those  described  with  such  masterly  and  indignant 
edification  by  my  friend  Charles  Dickens  ;  but  they 
formerly  seemed  to  have  abounded  in  all  ;  and  masters,  >. 
as  well  as  boys,  have  escaped  the  chance  of  many  bitter  \ 

1  [William  Ed.  Cheslyn,  who  afterwards  went  to  St.  John's  Col- 
lege, Cambridge,  and  died  young  (see  Mr.  R.  Brimley  Johnson's 
Chrisfs  Hospital,  p.  262).] 

75 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

reflections  since  a  wiser  and  more  generous  intercourse 
has  come  up  between  them. 

I  have  some  stories  of  Boyer  that  will  completely 
show  his  character,  and  at  the  same  time  relieve  the 
reader's  indignation  by  something  ludicrous  in  their 
excess.  We  had  a  few  boarders  at  the  school  :  boys 
wliose  parents  were  too  rich  to  let  them  go  on  the 
foundation.  Among  them,  in  my  time,  w^as  Carlton,  a  son 
of  Lord  Dorchester ;  Macdonald,  one  of  the  Lord  Chief 

Baron's  sons ;  and  R ,  the  son   of  a  rich  merchant. 

C ,  who  was  a  fine  fellow,  manly  and  full  of  good 

sense,  took  his  new  master  and  his  caresses  very  coolly, 
and  did  not  ■u'^ant  them.  Little  M also  could  dis- 
pense with  them,  and  would  put  on  his  delicate  gloves 
after  lesson,  with  an  air  as  if  he  resumed  his  patrician 
plumage.  R was  meeker,  and  willing  to  be  en- 
couraged ;  and  there  would  the  master  sit,  w^ith  his  arm 
round  his  tall  waist,  helping  him  to  his  Greek  verbs,  as 
a  nurse  does  bread  and  milk  to  an  infant ;  and  repeat- 
ing them,  w^hen  he  missed,  with  a  fond  patience,  that 
astonished  us  criminals  in  drugget. 

Very  different  was  the  treatment  of  a  boy  on  the 
foundation,  whose  friends,  by  some  means  or  other, 
had  prevailed  on  the  master  to  pay  him  an  extra 
attention,  and  try  to  get  him  on.  He  had  come  into 
the  school  at  an  age  later  than  usual,  and  could  hardly 
read.  There  was  a  book  used  by  the  learners  in  reading, 
called  Dialogues  between  a  Missionary  and  an  Indian.  It 
was  a  poor  performance,  full  of  inconclusive  arguments 
and  other  commonplaces.  The  boy  in  question  used  to 
appear  w^ith  this  book  in  his  hand  in  the  middle  of  the 
school,  the  master  standing  behind  him.     The  lesson 

was  to  begin.     Poor ,   w^hose  great  fault  lay  in  a 

deep-toned  drawl  of  his  syllables  and  the  omission  of  his 
stops,  stood  half  looking  at  the  book,  and  half  casting 
his  eye  towards  the  right  of  him,  whence  the  blows 
were  to  proceed.  The  master  looked  over  him,  and 
his  hand  was  ready.  I  am  not  exact  in  my  quotation 
jat  this  distance  of  time;  but  the  spirit  of  one  of  the 
passages  that  I  recollect  was  to  the  following  purport, 
and  thus  did  the  teacher  and  his  pupil  proceed  : — 

76 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

Master. — "  Now,  young  man,  have  a  care  ;  or  I'll  set 
you  a  swingeing  task."     (A  common  phrase  of  his.) 

Pupil. — (Making  a  sort  of  heavy  bolt  at  his  calamity, 
and  never  remembering  his  stop  at  the  word  Mission- 
ary.)    "  Missionary  Can  you  see  the  wind  ?  " 

(Master  gives  him  a  slap  on  the  cheek.) 

Pupil. — (Raising  his  voice  to  a  cry,  and  still  forget- 
ting his  stop.)     "  Indian  No  ! " 

Master. — "  God's-my-life,  young  man  !  have  a  care 
how  you  provoke  me  ! " 

Pupil. — (Always  forgetting  the  stop.)  "  Missionary 
How  then  do  you  know  that  there  is  such  a  thing  ?  " 

(Here  a  terrible  thump.) 

Pupil. — (With  a  shout  of  agony.)  "  Indian  Because 
I  feel  it." 

One  anecdote  of  his  injustice  will  suffice  for  all.  It 
is  of  ludicrous  enormity ;  nor  do  I  believe  anything 
more  flagrantly  wilful  was  ever  done  by  himself.     I 

heard  Mr.  C ,  the  sufferer,  now  a  most  respectable 

person  in  a  Government  office,  relate  it  with  a  due 
relish,  long  after  quitting  the  school.     The  master  was  ; 

in  the  habit  of  "  spiting "  C ;  that  is    to   say,   of 

taking  every  opportunity  to  be  severe  with  him,  no-  i 
body  knew  why.  One  day  he  comes  into  the  school, , 
and  finds  him  placed  in  the  middle  of  it  with  three 
other  boys.  He  w^as  not  in  one  of  his  w^orst  humours, 
and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  punish  them,  till  he  saw 
his  antagonist.  "Oh,  oh  !  sir,"  said  he:  "what!  jou 
are  among  them,  are  you  ?  "  and  gave  him  an  exclusive^ 
thump  on  the  face.  He  then  turned  to  one  of  the' 
Grecians,  and  said,  "  I  have  not  time  to  flog  all  these 
boys  ;  make  them  draw  lots,  and  I'll  punish  one."     The 

lots  w^ere  drawn,  and  C 's  was  favourable.     "  Oh, 

oh  ! "  returned  the  master,  when  he  saw  them,  "  you 
have  escaped  have  you,  sir  ?  "  and  pulling  out  his  watch, 
and  turning  again  to  the  Grecian,  observed,  that  he 
found  he  had  time  to  punish  the  whole  three ;  "  and, 

sir,"  added  he  to  C ,  with  another  slap,  "  I'll  begin 

with  you."  He  then  took  the  boy  into  the  library  and 
flogged  him  ;  and,  on  issuing  forth  again,  had  the  face 
to  say,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  "  I  have  not  time, 

77 


AlTOHlOCJHArHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

after  all.  to  punish  these  two  other  boys  ;  let  them  take 
care  how  thoy  provoke  me  another  time." 

Often  did  I  wish  that  I  were  a  fairy,  in  order  to  play 
him  trioks  like  a  Caliban.  We  used  to  sit  and  fancy 
what  we  should  do  with  his  wig ;  how  we  would 
hamper  and  vex  him  ;  "  put  knives  in  his  pillow,  and 
halters  in  his  pew."  To  venture  on  a  joke  in  our  own 
mortal  persons,  was  like  playing  with  Polyphemus. 
One  afternoon,  when  he  was  nodding  with  sleep  over  a 
lesson,  a  boy  of  the  name  of  Header,  who  stood  behind 
him,  ventured  to  take  a  pin,  and  begin  advancing  w^ith 
it  up  his  wig.  The  hollow,  exhibited  between  the  wig 
and  the  nape  of  the  neck,  invited  him.  The  boys 
encouraged  this  daring  act  of  gallantry.  Nods  and 
becks,  and  then  whispers  of  "  Go  it,  M.  !  "  gave  more 
and  more  valour  to  his  hand.  On  a  sudden,  the 
master's  head  falls  back  ;  he  starts  with  eyes  like  a 
shark  ;  and  seizing  the  unfortunate  culprit,  w^ho  stood 
helpless  in  the  act  of  holding  the  pin,  caught  hold  of 
him,  fiery  with  passion.  A  "  swingeing  task  "  ensued, 
which  kept  him  at  home  all  the  holidays.  One  of 
these  tasks  would  consist  of  an  impossible  quantity  of 
Virgil,  which  the  learner,  unable  to  retain  it  at  once, 
wasted  his  heart  and  soul  out  "  to  get  up,"  till  it  was 
too  late. 

Sometimes,  however,  our  despot  got  into  a  dilemma, 
and  then  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  out  of  it.  A 
boy,  now  and  then,  would  be  roused  into  open  and 
fierce  remonstrance.  I  recollect  S.,  afterwards  one  of 
the  mildest  of  preachers,  starting  up  in  his  place,  and 
pouring  forth  on  his  astonished  hearer  a  torrent  of 
invectives  and  threats,  which  the  other  could  only 
answer  by  looking  pale,  and  uttering  a  few  threats  in 
return.  Nothing  came  of  it.  He  did  not  like  such 
matters  to  go  before  the  governors.  Another  time, 
Favell,  a  Grecian,  a  youth  of  high  spirit,  whom,  he 
had  struck,  went  to  the  school-door,  opened  it,  and 
turning  round  with  the  handle  in  his  grasp,  told  him  he 
Would  never  set  foot  again  in  the  place,  unless  he 
promised  to  treat  him  with  more  delicacy.  "  Come 
back,  child  ;  come  back  ! "  said  the  other,  pale,  and  in  a 

78 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

faint  voice.  There  was  a  dead  silence.  Favell  came 
back,  and  nothing  more  w^as  done. 

A  sentiment,  unaccompanied  with  something  prac- 
tical, would  have  been  lost  upon  him.      D ,    who 

went  afterwards  to  the  Military  College  at  Woolwich, 
played  him  a  trick,  apparently  between  jest  and  earnest, 
which  amused  us  exceedingly.  He  was  to  be  flogged  ; 
and  the  dreadful  door  of  the  library  was  approached. 
(They  did  not  invest  the  books  with  flowers,  as 
Montaigne  recommends.)  Down  falls  the  criminal,  and 
twisting  himself  about  the  master's  legs,  which  he  does 
the  more  when  the  other  attempts  to  move,  repeats 
without  ceasing,  "Oh,  good  God!  consider  my  father, 
sir  ;  my  father,  sir ;  you  know  my  father  !  "  The  point 
was   felt  to  be    getting  ludicrous,   and  was  given  up. 

P ,  now  a  popular  preacher,  was  in  the  habit  of 

entertaining  the  boys  in  that  way.  He  was  a  regular 
wag  ;  and  would  snatch  his  jokes  out  of  the  very  flame 
and  fury  of  the  master,  like  snap-dragon.  Whenever 
the  other  struck  him,  P.  would  get  up  ;  and,  half  to 
avoid  the  blows,  and  half  render  them  ridiculous,  begin 
moving  about  the  school-room,  making  all  sorts  of 
antics.  When  he  was  struck  in  the  face,  he  woidd 
clap  his  hand  with  affected  vehemence  to  the  place,  and 
cry  as  rapidly,  "Oh,  Lord  !"  If  the  blow  came  on  the 
arm,  he  would  grasp  his  arm,  with  a  similar  exclama- 
tion. The  master  would  then  go,  driving  and  kicking 
him :  while  the  patient  accompanied  every  blow  with 
the  same  comments  and  illustrations,  making  faces  to 
us  by  w^ay  of  index. 

What  a  bit  of  a  golden  age  was  it,  when  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Steevens,  ^  one  of  the  under  grammar-masters,  took  his 
place,  on  some  occasion,  for  a  short  time  !  Steevens 
was  short  and  fat,  with  a  handsome,  cordial  face.  You 
loved  him  as  you  looked  at  him ;  and  seemed  as  if  you 
should   love   him  the  more  the  fatter   he  became.     I 

[^  Lamb  says  in  his  Christ  Hospital  Five  and  thirty  Years  Ago, 
"  First  Grecian  of  my  time  was  Lancelot  Pepys  Steevens,  kindest  of 
boys  and  men,  since  co-grammar  master  (and  inseparable  com- 
panion) with  Dr.  T[rollop]e."  Dr.  Arthur  William  Trollope  (1768- 
1827)  afterwards  became  headmaster.  His  son  William  (1798-1863) 
wrote  A  History  of  Christ's  Hospital,  1834.] 

79 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

ataTnniored  when  I  was  at  that  time  of  life :  which  was 
an  infirmity  that  used  to  get  me  into  terrible  trouble 
with  the  master.  Steevens  used  to  say,  on  the  other 
hand,  "  Here  comes  our  little  black-haired  friend,  who 
sttimmers  so.  Now,  let  us  see  w^hat  we  can  do  for  him." 
The  consequence  was,  I  did  not  hesitate  half  so  much  as 
with  the  other.  When  I  did,  it  was  out  of  impatience 
to  please  him. 

Such  of  us  were  not  liked  the  better  by  the  master  as 
were  in  favour  with  his  wife.  She  was  a  sprightly, 
good-looking  woman,  with  black  eyes  ;  and  was  beheld 
with  transport  by  the  boys,  whenever  she  appeared  at 
the  school-door.  Her  husband's  name,  uttered  in  a 
mingled  tone  of  good-nature  and  imperativeness,  brought 
him  down  from  his  seat  with  smiling  haste.  Sometimes 
he  did  not  return.  On  entering  the  school  one  day,  he 
found  a  boy  eating  cherries.  "  Where  did  you  get  those 
cherries '?  "  exclaimed  he,  thinking  the  boy  had  nothing 
to  say  for  himself.  "  Mrs.  Boyer  gave  them  me,  sir." 
He  turned  away,  scowling  with  disappointment. 

Speaking  of  fruit,  reminds  me  of  a  pleasant  trait  on 
the  part  of  a  Grecian  of  the  name  of  Le  Grice.^  He  was 
the  maddest  of  all  the  great  boys  in  my  time  ;  clever, 
full  of  address,  and  not  hampered  with  modesty. 
Remote  humours,  not  lightly  to  be  heard,  fell  on  our 
ears,  respecting  pranks  of  his  amongst  the  nurses' 
daughters.  He  had  a  fair  handsome  face,  with  delicate 
aquiline  nose,  and  twinkling  eyes.  I  remember  his 
astonishing  me  when  I  was  "  a  new^  boy,"  with  sending 
me  for  a  bottle  of  water,  which  he  proceeded  to  pour 
down  the  back  of  G.,  a  grave  Deputy  Grecian.  On  the 
master  asking  him  one  day  why  he,  of  all  the  boys,  had 
given  up  no  exercise  (it  was  a  particular  exercise  that 
they  were  bound  to  do  in  the  course  of  a  long  set  of 
holidays),  he  said  he  had  had  "a  lethargy."  The 
extreme  impudence  of  this  puzzled  the  master  ;  and,  I 
believe,  nothing  came  of  it.  But  what  I  alluded  to 
about  the  fruit  was  this.  Le  Grice  w^as  in  the  habit  of 
eating  apples  in  school-time,   for  which  he  had  been 

[*  Samuel  Le  Grice.  His  regiment  was  the  60th  Foot :  he  died  in 
Jamaica  in  1802.] 

80 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

often  rebuked.  One  day,  having  particularly  pleased 
the  master,  the  latter,  who  was  eating  apples  himself, 
and  who  would  now  and  then  with  great  ostentation 
present  a  boy  w^ith  some  halfpenny  token  of  his  man- 
suetude,  called  out  to  his  favourite  of  the  moment,  "  Le 
Grice,  here  is  an  apple  for  you."  Le  Grice,  who  felt 
his  dignity  hurt  as  a  Grecian,  but  was  more  pleased  at 
having  this  opportunity  of  mortifying  his  reprover, 
replied,  with  an  exquisite  tranquillity  of  assurance, 
"Sir,  I  never  eat  apples."  For  this,  among  other  things, 
the  boys  adored  him.  Poor  fellow  !  He  and  Favell  ^ 
(who,  though  very  generous,  was  said  to  be  a  little  too 
sensible  of  an  humble  origin)  wrote  to  the  Duke  of 
York,  when  they  were  at  College,  for  commissions  in 
the  army.  The  Duke  good-naturedly  sent  them.  Le 
Grice  died  in  the  West  Indies.  Favell  was  killed  in  one 
of  the  battles  in  Spain,  but  not  before  he  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

The  Upper  Grammar  School  was  divided  into  four 
classes  or  forms.  The  two  under  ones  were  called  Little 
and  Great  Erasmus  ;  the  two  upper  were  occupied  by 
the  Grecians  and  Deputy  Grecians.  We  used  to  think 
the  title  of  Erasmus  taken  from  the  great  scholar  of 
that  name ;  but  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  portrait 
among  us,  bearing  to  be  the  likeness  of  a  certain 
Erasmus  Smith,  Esq.,  shook  us  terribly  in  this  opinion, 
and  was  a  hard  trial  of  our  gratitude.  We  scarcely 
relished  this  perpetual  company  of  our  benefactor, 
watching  us,  as  he  seemed  to  do,  with  his  omnipresent 
eyes.  I  believe  he  was  a  rich  merchant,  and  that  the 
forms  of  Little  and  Great  Erasmus  were  really  named 
after  him.  It  was  but  a  poor  consolation  to  think  that 
he  himself,  or  his  great-uncle,  might  have  been  named 
after  Erasmus.  Little  Erasmus  learned  Ovid;  Great 
Erasmus,  Virgil,  Terence,  and  the  Greek  Testament. 
The    Deputy    Grecians    were    in    Homer,     Cicero,    and 

['  Robert  Favell  who  was  described  by  Lamb  as  "  dogged,  faithful, 
anticipative  of  insult,  warm  hearted,  with  something  of  the  old 
Roman  height  about  him,"  figures  in  the  Elian  essay  on  "  Poor 
Relations "  as  W ,  the  son  of  a  house-painter  at  Oxford  (Cam- 
bridge). He  was  so  ashamed  of  his  father's  calling  that  he  was  led 
to  join  the  army.] 

81  G 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Demosthenes  ;  the  Grecians,  in  the  Greek  plays  and  the 
niuthoniatics. 

Whi>n  a  boy  entered  the  Upper  School,  he  was  under- 
stood  to  be  in  the  road  to  the  University,  provided  he 
had  inclination  and  talents  for  it;  but,  as  only  one 
Grecian  a  year  went  to  College,  the  drafts  out  of  Great 
and  Little  Erasmus  into  the  w^riting-school  were 
nunicious.  A  few  also  became  Deputy  Grecians  with- 
out going  farther,  and  entered  the  world  from  that 
form.  Those  who  became  Grecians  always  went  to  the 
University,  though  not  always  into  the  Church  ;  which 
was  reckoned  a  departure  from  the  contract.  When  I 
first  came  to  school,  at  seven  years  old,  the  names  of 
the  Grecians  were  Allen,*  Fa  veil,  Thomson,^  and  Le 
Grice,  ^  brother  of  the  Le  Grice  above  mentioned,  and 
now  a  clergyman  in  Cornwall.  Charles  Lamb  had 
lately  been  Deputy  Grecian  ;  and  Coleridge  had  left  for 
the  University. 

The  master,  inspired  by  his  subject  with  an  eloquence 
beyond  himself,  once  called  him,  "  that  sensible  fool,  Col- 
leridge,"  pronouncing  the  word  like  a  dactyl.  Coleridge 
:  must  have  alternately  delighted  and  bewildered  him. 
y  The  compliment,  as  to  the  bewildering  w^as  returned,  if 
I  not  the  delight.  The  pupil,  I  am  told,  said  he  dreamt 
^^•of  the  master  all  his  life,  and  that  his  dreams  w^ere 
j  horrible.  A  bon-mot  of  his  is  recorded,  very  character- 
jistic  both  of  pupil  and  master.  Coleridge,  w^hen  he 
.^ heard  of  his  death,  said,  "It  was  lucky  that  the 
I  cherubim  who  took  him  to  heaven  w^ere  nothing  but 
I  faces  and  wings,  or  he  would  infallibly  have  flogged 
I  them  by  the  way."*  This  was  his  esoterical  opinion  of 
l^him.  His  outward  and  subtler  opinion,  or  opinion 
\  exoterical,  he  favoured  the  public  w^ith  in  his  Literary 
i  Life.  ^     He   praised    him,  among  other  things,  for  his 

('  Robert  Allen,  afterwards  went  to  University  College,  Oxford.] 
[-  Marmaduke  Thompson,  became  a  missionary.    Lamb  dedicated 

his  Rosamund  Gray  to  him.] 

(^  Charles  Valentine  Le  Grice.     The   Tineum,  containing  Estia- 

nomny,  or  the  Art  of  Stirring  a  Fire,  etc."  appeared  in  1794,  while 

Le  Grice  was  at  Cambridge.] 
[*  This  story  is  also  related  by  Lamb,  but  with  rather  more  point.] 
(*  Coleridge's  Biographia  lAteraria,  or-  Biographical  Sketches  of 

my  Literary  Life  and  Opinions,  2  vols.  8vo.,  1817.] 

82 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

good  taste  in  poetry,  and  his  not  suffering  the  boys  to 
get  into  the  commonplaces  of  Castalian  Streams, 
Invocations  to  the  Muses,  etc.  Certainly,  there  were 
no  such  things  in  our  days — at  least,  to  the  best  of  my 
remembrance.  But  I  do  not  think  the  master  saw 
through  them,  out  of  a  perception  of  anything  further. 
His  objection  to  a  commonplace  must  have  been  itself 
commonplace. 

I  do  not  remember  seeing  Coleridge,^  when  I  was  a 
child.  Lamb's  visits  to  the  school,  after  he  left  it, 
I  remember  well,  with  his  fine  intelligent  face.  Little 
did  I  think  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of  sitting  with 
it  in  after-times  as  an  old  friend,  and  seeing  it  care- 
worn and  still  finer.  Allen,  the  Grecian,  was  so 
handsome,  though  in  another  and  more  obvious  way, 
that  running  one  day  against  a  barrow-w^oman  in 
the  street,  and  turning  round  to  appease  her  in  the 
midst  of  her  abuse,  she  said,  "  Where  are  you  driving 
to,  you  great  hulking,  good-for-nothing  —  beautiful 
fellow,  God  bless  you ! "  Le  Grice  the  elder  w^as  a 
wag,  like  his  brother,  but  more  staid.  He  went  into  the 
Church  as  he  ought  to  do,  and  married  a  rich  widow. 
He  published  a  translation,  abridged,  of  the  celebrated 
pastoral  of  Longus  ;  and  report  at  school  made  him 
the  author  of  a  little  anonymous  tract  on  the  A^t 
of  Poking  the  Fire. 

Few  of  us  cared  for  any  of  the  books  that  were 
taught :  and  no  pains  were  taken  to  make  us  do  so. 
The  boys  had  no  helps  to  information,  bad  or  good, 
except  what  the  master  afforded  them  respecting 
manufactures — a  branch  of  knowledge  to  which,  as  I 
before  observed,  he  had  a  great  tendency,  and  which 
was  the  only  point  on  which  he  was  enthusiastic 
and  gratuitous.  I  do  not  blame  him  for  what  he 
taught  us  of  this  kind  :  there  was  a  use  in  it,  be- 
yond what  he  was  aware  of  ;  but  it  was  the  only 
one  on  which  he  volunteered  any  assistance.  In  this 
he  took  evident  delight.       I  remember,  in  explaining 

['  Coleridge  left  Christ's  Hospital  in  September,  1791,  for  Jesus 
College,  Cambridge.  Hunt  did  not  enter  the  school  until  the  fol- 
lowing November.] 

83 


AUT015I0GKAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

piujs  of  iron  or  lead  to  us,  he  made  a  point  of  cross- 
inix  <^>iie  of  his  legs  with  the  other,  and,  cherishing 
it  up  and  down  with  great  satisfaction,  saying,  "  A 
pig,  children,  is  about  the  thickness  of  my  leg." 
Upon  which,  with  a  slavish  pretence  of  novelty,  we 
all  looked  at  it,  as  if  he  had  not  told  us  so  a  hundred 
times.  In  everything  else  we  had  to  hunt  out  our 
own  knowledge.  He  would  not  help  us  with  a  word 
till  he  had  ascertained  that  we  had  done  all  we  could 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  it  ourselves.  This  discipline 
was  useful ;  and  in  this  and  every  other  respect,  we 
had  all  the  advantages  which  a  mechanical  sense  of 
right,  and  a  rigid  exaction  of  duty,  could  afford  us ; 
but  no  further.  The  only  superfluous  grace  that  he 
was  guilty  of,  was  the  keeping  a  manuscript  book,  in 
which,  by  a  rare  luck,  the  best  exercise  in  English 
verse  was  occasionally  copied  out  for  immortality  !  To 
have  verses  in  "  the  Book"  was  the  rarest  and  highest 
honour  conceivable  to  our  imaginations.^  I  never, 
alas  !  attained  it. 

How  little  did  I  care  for  any  verses  at  that  time, 
except  English  ones  ;  I  had  no  regard  even  for  Ovid. 
I  read  and  knew  nothing  of  Horace  ;  though  I  had  got 
somehow  a  liking  for  his  character.  Cicero  I  disliked, 
as  I  cannot  help  doing  still.  Demosthenes  I  was 
inclined  to  admire,  but  did  not  know  why,  and  would 
,  very  willingly  have  given  up  him  and  his  difficulties 
together.  Homer  I  regarded  with  horror,  as  a  series 
of  lessons  which  I  had  to  learn  by  heart  before  I 
understood  him.  When  I  had  to  conquer,  in  this 
way,  lines  which  I  had  not  construed,  I  had  recourse 
to  a  sort  of  artificial  memory,  by  which  I  associated 
the  Greek  words  with  sounds  that  had  a  meaning  in 
English,  Thus,  a  passage  about  Thetis  I  made  to 
bear  on  some  circumstance  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  school.  An  account  of  a  battle  was  converted 
into  a  series  of  jokes  ;  and  the  master  while  I  was 
;  saying  my  lesson  to  him  in  trepidation,  little  suspected 
i  what  a  figure  he  was  often  cutting  in  the  text.     The 

['  Coleridge  was  a  contributor  to  Boyer's  album.] 
84 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

only  classic  I  remember  having  any  love  for  was  Virgil ;  ■ 
and  that  was  for  the  episode  of  Nisus  and  Euryalus.         I; 

But  there  were  three  books  which  I  read  in  when-  ;^ 
ever  I  could,  and  which  often  got   me  into    trouble. 
These   w^ere   Tooke's   Pantheon,   Lempriere's    Classical 
Dictionary,  and   Spence's    Polymetis,    the    great    folio 
edition  with  plates.     Tooke  was  a  prodigious  favourite  , 
with  us.     I  see  before  me,  as  vividly  now  as  ever,  his  * 
Mars  and  Apollo,  his  Venus  and  Aurora,  which  I  was 
continually   trying    to    copy ;    the    Mars,    coming    on  . 
furiously  in  his  car ;  Apollo,  with  his  radiant  head,  in  j 
the  midst  of  shades  and  fountains  ;  Aurora  with  hers,  I 
a    golden    dawn ;     and    Venus,    very    handsome,    we  | 
thought,    and    not   looking   too    modest   in    "a  slight  ^ 
cymar."     It  is  curious  how  completely  the  graces   of 
the  Pagan  theology  overcame  with  us  the  ^vise  cautions 
and  reproofs  that  w^ere  set  against  it  in  the  pages  of 
Mr.    Tooke.       Some    years   after   my   departure   from ; 
school,    happening    to  look   at   the   work  in  question,  | 
I  was  surprised  to  find  so  much  of  that  matter  in  him.  | 
When   I  came  to  reflect,  I  had  a  sort  of  recollection  + 
that  we  used  occasionally  to  notice  it,  as  something  t 
inconsistent  with  the  rest  of   the  text — strange,  and  >■ 
odd,   and  like  the  interference  of  some  pedantic    old  * 
gentleman.     This,    indeed,    is  pretty   nearly  the   case.  | 
The  author  has  also  made  a  strange   mistake   about  I 
Bacchus,    whom   he    represents,  both   in    his  text  and  | 
his  print,  as  a  mere  belly-god  ;  a  corpulent  child,  like  ^, 
the  Bacchus  bestriding  a  tun.     This  is  anything  but  | 
classical.     The  truth  is,  it  w^as  a  sort  of  pious  fraud,  I 
like  many  other  things  palmed  upon  antiquity.     Tooke's  1 
Pantheon   was    written    originally    in    Latin    by    the  I 
Jesuits.^  I 

Our  Lempriere  was  a  fund  of  entertainment.    Spence's  * 

I*  Francois  Pomey  (1619-1673),  a  French  Jesuit,  was  the  author 
of  Panthceum  Mythicttm,  which  Andrew  Tooke  (1673-1731)  pub- 
lished in  English  without  acknowledgment.  Rev.  John  Lem- 
priere (1765-1824).  Rev  Joseph  Spence  (1698-1768),  the  friend  of 
Pope,  and  the  author  of  the  Anecdotes  Coriceming  Eminent 
Literary  Characters.  His  Polymetis,  or  Enqtiiry  into  the  Agree- 
ment between  the  Works  of  the  Roman  Poets  and  the  Remains  of 
the  Ancient  Artists,  was  published  in  1747.] 

85 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Poh/mrtis  was  not  so  easily  got  at.  There  was  also 
sonu'thiii^  in  the  text  that  did  not  invito  us ;  but  we 
ailniiriHl  tlio  lino  large  prints.  However,  Tooko  was 
the  favourite.  I  cannot  divest  myself  of  a  notion,  to 
this  day,  that  there  is  something  really  clever  in  the 
picture  of  Apollo.  The  Minerva  we  "  could  not 
abide ";  Juno  was  no  favourite,  for  all  her  throne 
and  her  peacock  ;  and  we  thought  Diana  too  pretty. 
The  instinct  against  these  three  goddesses  begins 
early.  I  used  to  wonder  how  Juno  and  Minerva 
could  have  the  insolence  to  dispute  the  apple  with 
Venus. 

In  those  times,  Cooke's  edition  of  the  British  poets 
came  up.  I  had  got  an  odd  volume  of  Spenser ;  and  I 
fell  passionately  in  love  with  Collins  and  Gray.  How  I 
loved  those  little  sixpenny  numbers  containing  whole 
poets  !  I  doted  on  their  size ;  I  doted  on  their  type, 
on  their  ornaments,  on  their  wrappers  containing  lists 
of  other  poets,  and  on  the  engravings  from  Kirk.  I 
bought  them  over  and  over  again,  and  used  to  get 
up  select  sets  which  disappeared  like  buttered  crum- 
pets ;  for  I  could  resist  neither  giving  them  away, 
nor  possessing  them.  When  the  master  tormented 
me  —  when  I  used  to  hate  and  loathe  the  sight  of 
Homer,  and  Demosthenes,  and  Cicero — I  would  com- 
fort myself  with  thinking  of  the  sixpence  in  my 
pocket,  with  which  I  should  go  out  to  Paternoster  Row, 
when  school  was  over,  and  buy  another  number  of 
an  English  poet.^ 
,  I  was  already  fond  of  writing  verses.  The  first  I 
■  remember  were  in  honour  of  the  Duke  of  York's 
"  Victory  at  Dunkirk " ;  which  victory,  to  my  great 
mortification,  turned  out  to  be  a  defeat.  I  compared 
him  with  Achilles  and  Alexander  ;  or  should  rather  say, 
trampled  upon  those  heroes  in  the  comparison.  I 
fancied  him  riding  through  the  field,  and  shooting  right 
and  left  of  him  !  Afterwards,  when  in  Great  Erasmus, 
I  wrote  a  poem  called  Winter,  in  consequence  of  reading 

f  William  Hazlitt,  in  his  essay  "On  Reading  Old  Books,"  has 
described  in  his  inimitable  way  how  as  a  boy  he  came  under  the 
spell  of  Cooke's  edition  of  the  novelists.] 

8(> 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

Thomson  ;  and  when  Deputy  Grecian,  I  completed  some 
hundred  stanzas  of  another,  called  the  Fairy  King, 
which  was  to  be  in  emulation  of  Spenser  !  I  also  wrote 
a  long  poem  in  irregular  Latin  verses  (such  as  they 
were)  entitled  Thor  ;  the  consequence  of  reading  Gray's 
Odes  and  Mallett's  Northern  Antiquities.  English  verses 
were  the  only  exercise  I  performed  with  satisfaction. 
Themes,  or  prose  essays,  I  wrote  so  badly,  that  the 
master  was  in  the  habit  of  contemptuously  crumpling 
them  up  in  his  hand  and  calling  out,  "  Here,  children, 
there  is  something  to  amuse  you  ! "  Upon  which  the 
servile  part  of  the  boys  w^ould  jump  up,  seize  the  paper,, 
and  be  amused  accordingly. 

The  essays  must  have  been  very  absurd,  no  doubt ; 
but  those  who  would  have  tasted  the  ridicule  best  were 
the  last  to  move.  There  was  an  absurdity  in  giving  us 
such  essays  to  write.  They  were  upon  a  given  subject, 
generally  a  moral  one,  such  as  Ambition  or  the  Love 
of  Money  :  and  the  regular  process  in  the  manufacture 
was  this  : — You  wrote  out  the  subject  very  fairly  at 
top.  Quid  non  mortalia,  etc.,  or,  Crescit  amor'  nummi. 
Then  the  ingenious  thing  was  to  repeat  this  apophthegm 
in  as  many  words  and  roundabout  phrases  as  possible, 
which  took  up  a  good  bit  of  the  paper.  Then  you  at- 
tempted to  give  a  reason  or  two  why  amor  nuTnrni  was 
bad  ;  or  on  what  accounts  heroes  ought  to  eschew^ 
ambition ;  after  w^hich  naturally  came  a  few  examples, 
got  out  of  Plutarch  or  the  Selectee  h  Profanis  ;  and  the 
happy  moralist  concluded  with  signing  his  name. 
Somebody  speaks  of  schoolboys  going  about  to  one 
another  on  these  occasions,  and  asking  for  "  a  little 
sense."     That  was  not  the  phrase  with  us  ;  it  was  "  a 

thought."      "P ,    can    you    give   me    a   thought?" 

"  C ,  for  God's  sake,  help  me  to  a  thought,  for  it 

only  wants  ten  minutes  to  eleven."     It  was  a  joke  with 

P ,  who  knew  my  hatred  of  themes,  and  how  I  used 

to  hurry  over  them,  to  come  to  me  at  a  quarter  to 
eleven,  and  say,  "  Hunt,  have  you  begun  your  theme  ?  "! 

— "Yes,  P ."     He   then,  when   the   quarter   of  ai^ 

hour  had  expired,  and  the  bell  tolled,  came  again,  and^ 
with  a  sort  of  rhyming  formula  to  the  other  question, 

87 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

said,  "  Hunt,  have  you  done  your  theme  ?  " — "  Yes, 
P .' 

How  I  dared  to  trespass  in  this  way  upon  the  patience 
tof  the  master,  I  cannot  conceive.  I  suspect  that  the 
themes  appeared  to  him  more  absurd  than  careless. 
.Perhaps  another  thing  perplexed  him.  The  master  was 
rigidly  orthodox  ;  the  school  establishment  also  was 
orthodox  and  high  Tory;  and  there  w^as  just  then  a 
little  perplexity,  arising  from  the  free  doctrines  incul- 
cated by  the  books  we  learned,  and  the  new  and  alarm- 
ing echo  of  them  struck  on  the  ears  of  power  by  the 
French  Revolution.  My  father  was  in  the  habit  of 
expressing  his  opinions.  He  did  not  conceal  the  new 
tendency  w^hich  he  felt  to  modify  those  which  he  enter- 
tained respecting  both  Church  and  State.  His  uncon- 
scious son  at  school,  nothing  doubting  or  suspecting, 
repeated  his  eulogies  of  Timoleon  and  the  Gracchi, 
with  all  a  schoolboy's  enthusiasm  ;  and  the  master's 
mind  was  not  of  a  pitch  to  be  superior  to  this  unwitting 
annoyance.  It  was  on  these  occasions,  I  suspect,  that 
he  crumpled  up  my  themes  with  a  double  contempt, 
and  with  an  equal  degree  of  perplexity. 

There  w^as  a  better  school  exercise,  consisting  of  an 
abridgment  of  some  paper  in  the  Spectator.  We  made, 
however,  little  of  it,  and  thought  it  very  difficult  and 
perplexing.  In  fact,  it  w^as  a  hard  task  for  boys,  utterly 
unacquainted  with  the  world,  to  seize  the  best  points 
out  of  the  writings  of  masters  in  experience.  It  only 
gave  the  Spectator  an  unnatural  gravity  in  our  eyes. 
A  common  paper  for  selection,  because  reckoned  one  of 
the  easiest,  was  the  one  beginning,  "  I  have  always  pre- 
ferred cheerfulness  to  mirth."  I  had  heard  this  paper 
so  often,  and  was  so  tired  with  it,  that  it  gave  me  a 
great  inclination  to  prefer  mirth  to  cheerfulness. 

My  books  were  a  never-ceasing  consolation  to  me,  and 
such  they  have  ever  continued.  My  favourites,  out  of 
school  hours,  were  Spenser,  Collins,  Gray,  and  the 
Arabian  Nights.  Pope  I  admired  more  than  loved ; 
Milton  was  above  me ;  and  the  only  play  of  Shakes- 
peare's with  which  I  was  conversant  was  Hamlet,  of 
which  I  had  a  delighted  awe.     Neither  then,  however, 

88 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

nor  at  any  time,  have  I  been  as  fond  of  dramatic  read- 
ing as  of  any  other,  though  I  have  written  many 
dramas  myself,  and  have  even  a  special  propensity  for 
so  doing ;  a  contradiction  for  which  I  have  never  been 
able  to  account.  Chaucer,  who  has  since  been  one  of 
my  best  friends,  I  was  not  acquainted  with  at  school, 
nor  till  long  afterwards.  Hudihras  I  remember  reading 
through  at  one  desperate  plunge,  while  I  lay  incapable 
of  moving  with  two  scalded  legs.  I  did  it  as  a  sort  of 
achievement,  driving  on  through  the  verses  without 
understanding  a  twentieth  part  of  them,  but  now  and 
then  laughing  immoderately  at  the  rhymes  and  similes, 
and  catching  a  bit  of  knowledge  unaw^ares.  I  had  a 
schoolfellow  of  the  name  of  Brooke,  afterwards  an 
officer  in  the  East  India  Service — a  grave,  quiet  boy, 
with  a  fund  of  manliness  and  good-humour.  He  would 
pick  out  the  ludicrous  couplets  like  plums,  such  as  those 
on  the  astrologer, — 

"Who  deals  in  destiny's  dark  counsels, 
And  sage  opinions  of  the  moon  sells " ; 

And  on  the  apothecary's  shop  : — 

"  With  stores  of  deleterious  med'cines,  : 

Which  whosoever  took  is  dead  since."  ; 

He  had  the  little  thick  duodecimo  edition,  with  Hogarth's 
plates — dirty,  and  well  read,  looking  like  Hudibras  him- 
self. 

I  read  through,  at  the  same  time,  and  with  little  less 
sense  of  it  as  a  task,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  The 
divinity  of  it  was  so  much  "  Heathen  Greek "  to  us. 
Unluckily,  I  could  not  taste  the  beautiful  "Heathen 
Greek  "  of  the  style.  Milton's  heaven  made  no  impres- 
sion ;  nor  could  I  enter  even  into  the  earthly  catastrophe 
of  his  man  and  woman.  The  only  two  things  I  thought 
of  were  their  happiness  in  Paradise,  where  (to  me)  they 
eternally  remained ;  and  the  strange  malignity  of  the 
devil,  who,  instead  of  getting  them  out  of  it,  as  the 
poet  represents,  only  served  to  bind  them  closer.  He 
seemed  an  odd  shade  to  the  picture.  The  figure  he  cut 
in  the  engravings  was  more  in  my  thoughts  than  any- 

89 


AUTOIUOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

thiiiix  said  of  him  in  the  poem.  He  was  a  sort  of 
human  wild  beast,  lurking  about  the  garden  in  which 
thi>y  lived  ;  though,  in  consequence  of  the  dress  given 
him  in  some  of  tlie  plates,  this  man  with  a  tail  occa- 
sionally confused  himself  in  my  imagination  with  a 
Roman  general.  I  could  make  little  of  it.  I  believe 
the  plates  impressed  me  altogether  much  more  than 
the  poem.  Perhaps  they  were  the  reason  why  I  thought 
of  Adam  and  Eve  as  I  did  ;  the  pictures  of  them  in 
their  paradisaical  state  being  more  numerous  than 
those  in  which  they  appear  exiled.  Besides,  in  their 
exile  they  were  together ;  and  this  constituting  the 
best  thing  in  their  paradise,  I  suppose  I  could  not  so 
easily  get  miserable  with  them  when  out  of  it.  I  had 
the  same  impression  from  Dr.  Johnson's  Rasselas.  I 
never  thought  of  anything  in  it  but  the  Happy  Valley. 
I  might  have  called  to  mind,  with  an  effort,  a  shadow^y 
something  about  disappointment,  and  a  long  remainder 
of  talk  which  I  would  not  read  again,  perhaps  never 
thoroughly  did  read.  The  Happy  Valley  was  new  to 
me,  and  delightful  and  everlasting  ;  and  there  the 
princely  inmates  were  everlastingly  to  be  found. 

The  scald  that  I  speak  of  as  confining  me  to  bed  was 
a  bad  one.  I  will  give  an  account  of  it,  because  it 
furthers  the  elucidation  of  our  school  manners.  I  had 
then  become  a  monitor,  or  one  of  the  chiefs  of  a  ward  ; 
and  I  was  sitting  before  the  fire  one  evening,  after  the 
boys  had  gone  to  bed,  wrapped  up  in  the  perusal  of  the 
''Wonderful  Magazine,  and  having  in  my  ear  at  the 
isame  time  the  bubbling  of  a  great  pot,  or  rather 
cauldron  of  water,  containing  what  was  by  courtesy 
called  a  bread  pudding  ;  being  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  loaf  or  two  of  our  bread,  which,  with  a  little 
sugar  mashed  up  w^ith  it,  w^as  to  serve  for  my  supper. 
And  there  were  eyes,  not  yet  asleep,  which  would  look 
at  it  out  of  their  beds,  and  regard  it  as  a  lordly  dish. 
From  this  dream  of  bliss  I  was  roused  up  on  the 
sudden  by  a  great  cry,  and  a  horrible  agony  in  my  legs, 
A  "boy,"  as  a  fag  was  called,  wishing  to  get  some- 
thing from  the  other  side  of  the  fire-place,  and  not 
choosing    either  to  go  round  behind  the   table,  or   to 

90 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

disturb  the  illustrious   legs    of   the    monitor,  had   en- 
deavoured to  get  under  them  or  between  them,  and  so 
pulled  the  great  handle  of  the  pot  after  him.     It  was  a 
frightful  sensation.     The  whole  of  my  being  seemed 
collected  in  one  fiery  torment  into  my   legs.     Wood, 
the  Grecian  (afterwards  Fellow  of  Pembroke,  at  Cam-'j 
bridge),  who  was  in  our  ward,  and  who  was  al^vays^ 
very  kind  to  me  (led,  I  believe,  by  my  inclination  for'i 
verses,  in  which  he  had  a  great  name),  came  out  of  his| 
study,  and  after  helping  me    off   with   my   stockings,^ 
which  was  a  horrid  operation,  the  stockings  being  very 
coarse,  took  me  in  his  arms  to  the  sick  ward.     I  shall 
never  forget  the  enchanting  relief  occasioned  by  the 
cold  air,  as  it  blew  across  the  square  of  the  sick  ward 
I  lay  there  for  several  weeks,  not  allowed  to  move  for , 
some  time ;  and  caustics  became  necessary  before  I  got  j 
well.     The  getting  well  was  delicious.     I  had  no  tasks  t 
— no  master  ;  plenty  of  books  to  read  ;  and  the  nurse's  s; 
daughter  {ahsit  calumiiia)  brought  me  tea  and  buttered  | 
toast,  and  encouraged  me  to  play  the  flute.     My  play-  \ 
ing   consisted    of   a   few   tunes   by   rote  ;    my   fellow-  i 
invalids  (none  of  them  in  very  desperate  case)  ^vould 
have  it  rather  than  no  playing  at  all ;  so  we  used  to 
play  and  tell  stories,  and  go  to  sleep,  thinking  of  the  | 
blessed  sick  holiday  we  should  have  to-morro^v,  and  of  * 
the  bowl  of  milk  and  bread  for  breakfast,  w^hich  was 
alone  worth  being  sick  for.     The  sight  of  Mr.  Long's  \ 
probe  was  not  so  pleasant.     We  preferred  seeing  it  in  | 
the  hands  of  Mr.   Vincent,  w^hose  manners,  quiet  and  i 
mild,  had  double  effect  on  a  set  of  boys  more  or  less  | 
jealous  of  the  mixed  humbleness    and    importance  of  ft 
their  school.     This  was  most  likely  the  same  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  Vincent,  who  afterwards  became  dis- 
tinguished in  his  profession.      He  was    dark,    like    a 
West  Indian,  and  I  used  to  think  him  handsome.     Per- 
haps the  nurse's  daughter  taught  me  to  think  so,  for 
she  was  a  considerable  observer. 


91 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 


CHAPTER  IV 

SCHOOL-DAYS    {coiitinued) 
[1791-1799] 

I  AM  grateful  to  Christ  Hospital  for  having  bred  me 
np  in  old  cloisters,  for  its  making  me  acquainted 
with   the  languages  of  Homer  and   Ovid,  and  for  its 
having  secured  to  me,  on  the  whole,  a  well-trained  and 
cheerful  boyhood.     It  pressed  no  superstition  upon  me. 
It  did  not  hinder  my  growing  mind  from  making  what 
excursions  it  pleased  into  the  wide  and  healthy  regions 
of  general  literature.     I  might  buy  as  much  Collins  and 
Gray  as  I  pleased,  and  get  novels  to  my  heart's  content 
from  the  circulating  libraries.     There  was  nothing  pro- 
hibited but  what  would   have   been   prohibited  by  all 
good  fathers ;  and  everything  was  encouraged  which 
would  have  been  encouraged  by  the  Steeles,  and  Addi- 
sons,  and  Popes  ;  by  the  Warburtons,  and  Atterburys, 
;and  Hoadleys.      Boyer   w^as    a    severe,    nay,    a    cruel 
'  master  ;  but  age  and  reflection  have  made  me  sensible 
•  that  I  ought  always  to  add  my  testimony  to  his  being 
■a  laborious  and  a  conscientious  one.     When  his  severity 
t  went  beyond  the  mark,  I  believe  he  was  always  sorry 
for  it :  sometimes  I  am  sure  he  w^as.     He  once  (though 
^  the  anecdote  at  first  sight  may  look  like  a  burlesque  on 
\  the    remark)  knocked  out  one  of  my  teeth   with  the 
;;  back  of  a  Homer,  in  a  fit  of  impatience  at  my  stammer- 
■■  ing.     The   tooth  was  a  loose   one,  and  I  told  him  as 
V  much  ;  but  the  blood  rushed  out  as  I  spoke  :  he  turned 
pale,  and,  on  my  proposing   to  go  out  and  w^ash  the 
naouth,  he  said,  "  Go,  child,"  in  a  tone  of  voice  amount- 
ing to  the  paternal.      Now  "  Go,  child,"  from   Boyer, 
was  worth  a  dozen  tender  speeches  from  any  one  else  ; 
fand  it  was  felt  that  I  had  got  an  advantage  over  him, 
Sacknowledged  by  himself. 

If  I  had  reaped  no  other  benefit  from  Christ  Hos- 

92 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

pital,  the  school  would  be  ever  dear  to  me  from  the  \ 
recollection  of  the  friendships   I  formed  in  it,  and  of  t 
the   first   heavenly   taste    it   gave   me    of    that    most  | 
spiritual  of  the  affections.     I  use  the  word  "heavenly"? 
advisedly  ;  and  I  call  friendship  the  most  spiritual  of  | 
the  affections,  because  even  one's  kindred,  in  partaking  \ 
of  our  flesh  and  blood,  become,  in  a  manner,  mixed  up  }, 
with  our  entire  being.     Not  that  I  ^vould  disparage  any  | 
other  form  of  affection,  worshipping,  as  I  do,  all  forms  ? 
of  it,   love  in  particular,  which,  in  its  highest  state,  is 
friendship  and  something  more.     But  if  ever  I  tasted  | 
a  disembodied   transport    on    earth,    it   was   in    those  ' 
friendships    which    I    entertained  at  school,  before  I 
dreamt  of  any  maturer  feeling.     I  shall  never  forget 
the  impression  it  first  made  on  me.     I  loved  my  friend 
for    his    gentleness,   his  candour,   his  truth,  his  good  < 
repute,  his  freedom  even  from  my  own  livelier  manner,  J 
his   calm    and    reasonable   kindness.     It  was  not  any| 
particular  talent  that  attracted  me  to  him,  or  anything  i 
striking  whatsoever.     I  should  say,  in  one  w^ord,  it  was  I 
his  goodness.     I  doubt  whether  he  ever  had  a  concep-f 
tion  of  a  tithe  of  the  regard  and  respect  I  entertained', 
for  him  ;  and  I  smile  to  think  of  the  perplexity  (though  | 
he  never  showed  it)  which  he  probably  felt  sometimes  I 
at  my  enthusiastic  expressions  ;  for  I  thought  him  a  ^ 
kind  of  angel.     It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say,  that,  take  | 
away  the   unspiritual  part  of  it — the  genius  and  the| 
knowledge — and  there  is  no  height  of  conceit  indulged  { 
in    by    the    most   romantic  character    in    Shakspeare, ; 
which    surpassed  w^hat  I  felt  towards    the    merits    I 
ascribed  to  him,  and  the  delight  which  I  took  in  his 
society.       With  the  other  boys    I   played   antics,   and 
rioted  in  fantastic  jests  ;  but  in  his  society,  or  whenever 
I  thought  of  him,  I  fell  into  a  kind  of  Sabbath  state  of 
bliss  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  could  have  died  for  him. 

I  experienced  this  delightful  affection  towards  three 
successive  schoolfellows,  till  two  of  them  had  for  some 
time  gone  out  into  the  world  and  forgotten  me  ;  but  it 
grew  less  with  each,  and  in  more  than  one  instance 
became  rivalled  by  a  new  set  of  emotions,  especially  in 
regard  to  the  last,  for  I  fell  in  love  with  his  sister — at 

93 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

loast,  I  (liouj^ht  so.  But  on  the  occurrence  of  her 
(loath,  not  long  after,  I  was  startled  at  finding  myself 
assume  an  air  of  greater  sorrow  than  I  felt,  and  at 
being  willing  to  be  relieved  by  the  sight  of  the  first 
pretty  face  that  turned  towards  me.  I  was  in  the 
situation  of  the  page  in  Figaro  : — 

"Ogni  donna  cangiar  di  colore; 
Ogni  donna  mi  fa  palpitar." 

My  friend,  who  died  himself  not  long  after  his  quitting 
the  University,  was  of  a  German  family  in  the  service 
of  the  court,  very  refined  and  musical.  I  likened  them 
to  the  people  in  the  novels  of  Augustus  La  Fontaine  ; 
and  with  the  younger  of  the  two  sisters  I  had  a  great 
desire  to  play  the  part  of  the  hero  in  the  Family  of 
Halden. 

The  elder,  who  was  my  senior,  and  of  manners  too 
advanced  for  me  to  aspire  to,  became  distinguished  in 
private  circles  as  an  accomplished  musician.  How  I 
used  to  rejoice  when  they  struck  their  "  harps  in  praise 
of  Bragela  ! "  and  how  ill-bred  I  must  have  appeared 
w^hen  I  stopped  beyond  all  reasonable  time  of  visiting, 
unable  to  tear  myself  away !  They  lived  in  Spring 
Gardens,  in  a  house  which  I  have  often  gone  out  of  my 
w^ay  to  look  at ;  and  as  I  first  heard  of  Mozart  in  their 
company,  and  first  heard  his  marches  in  the  Park,  I 
used  to  associate  with  their  idea  whatsoever  was 
charming  and  graceful. 

Maternal  notions  of  war  came  to  nothing  before  love 
and  music,  and  the  steps  of  the  officers  on  parade. 
The  young  ensign  with  his  flag,  and  the  ladies  with 
their  admiration  of  him,  carried  everything  before 
them. 

I  had  already  borne  to  school  the  air  of  "  Non  piu 
andrai " ;  and,  w^ith  the  help  of  instruments  made  of 
paper,  into  w^hich  we  breathed  what  imitations  Mve  could 
of  hautboys  and  clarionets,  had  inducted  the  boys  into 
the  "  pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  "  of  that  glorious 
bit  of  war. 

Thus  is  war  clothed  and  recommended  to  all  of  us, 
and  not  without  reason,  as  long  as  it  is  a  necessity,  or 

94 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

as  long  as  it  is  something,  at  least,  which  we  have  not 
acquired  knowledge  or  means  enough  to  do  away  with. 
A  bullet  is  of  all  pills  the  one  that  most  requires 
gilding. 

But  I  will  not  bring  these  night- thoughts  into  the 
morning  of  life.  Besides,  I  am  anticipating  ;  for  this 
was  not  my  first  love.     I  shall  mention  that  presently. 

I  have  not  done  "with  my  school  reminiscences  ;  but 
in  order  to  keep  a  straightforward  course,  and  notice 
simultaneous  events  in  their  proper  places,  I  shall  here 
speak  of  the  persons  and  things  in  which  I  took 
the  greatest  interest  when  I  was  not  within  school- 
bounds. 

The  two  principal  houses  at  which  I  visited,  till  the 
arrival  of  our  relations  from  the  West  Indies,  were 
Mr.  West's  (late  President  of  the  Royal  Academy),  in 
Newman-street,  and  Mr.  Godfrey  Thornton's  ^  (of  the 
distinguished  City  family),  in  Austin  Friars,  How  I 
loved  the  Graces  in  one,  and  everything  in  the  other ! 
Mr.  West  (who,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  had 
married  one  of  my  relations)  had  bought  his  house,  I 
believe,  not  long  after  he  came  to  England ;  and  he 
had  added  a  gallery  at  the  back  of  it,  terminating  in  a 
couple  of  lofty  rooms.  The  gallery  was  a  continuation 
of  the  house-passage,  and,  together  with  one  of  those 
rooms  and  the  parlour,  formed  three  sides  of  a  garden, 
very  small  but  elegant,  with  a  grass-plot  in  the  middle, 
and  busts  upon  stands  under  an  arcade.  The  gallery, 
as  you  went  up  it,  formed  an  angle  at  a  little  distance 
to  the  left,  then  another  to  the  right,  and  then  took  a 
longer  stretch  into  the  two  rooms  ;  and  it  was  hung 
with  the  artist's  sketches  all  the  way.  In  a  corner 
between  the  two  angles  was  a  study-door,  with  casts  of 
Venus  and  Apollo  on  each  side  of  it.  The  two  rooms 
contained  the  largest  of  his  pictures  ;  and  in  the  farther 
one,  after  stepping  softly  down  the  gallery,  as  if 
reverencing  the  dumb  life  on  the  walls,  you  generally 
found  the  mild  and  quiet  artist  at  his  work  ;  happy,  for 
he  thought  himself  immortal. 

I*  Leigh  Hunt's  eldest  son,  and  the  first  editor  of  his  father's 
Autobiography,  was  named  after  this  family.] 

95 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

I  iuhmI  not  ontor  into  the  merits  of  an  artist  who  is 
so  well  known,  and  has  been  so  often  criticized.  He 
Was  a  man  with  regukir,  mild  features ;  and,  though  of 
Quaker  origin,  had  the  look  of  what  he  was,  a  painter 
to  a  court.  His  appearance  was  so  gentlemanly,  that, 
the  moment  he  changed  his  gown  for  a  coat,  he  seemed 
to  be  full-dressed.  The  simplicity  and  self-possession 
of  the  young  Quaker,  not  having  time  enough  to  grow 
stiff  (for  he  went  early  to  study  at  Rome),  took  up,  I 
suppose,  with  more  ease  than  most  would  have  done, 
the  urbanities  of  his  new  position.  And  what  simpli- 
city helped  him  to,  favour  would  retain.  Yet  this  man, 
so  well  bred,  and  so  indisputably  clever  in  his  art 
(whatever  might  be  the  amount  of  his  genius),  had  re- 
ceived so  careless,  or  so  homely  an  education  when  a 
boy,  that  he  could  hardly  read.  He  pronounced  also 
some  of  his  words,  in  reading,  with  a  puritanical  bar- 
barism, such  as  halve  for  have,  as  some  people  pro- 
nounce when  they  sing  psalms.  But  this  was,  perhaps, 
an  American  custom.  My  mother,  who  both  read  and 
spoke  remarkably  yveW,  would  say  halve  and  shaul  (for 
shall),  w^hen  she  sang  her  hymns.  But  it  was  not  so 
well  in  reading  lectures  to  the  Academy.  Mr.  West 
would  talk  of  his  art  all  day  long,  painting  all  the 
while.  On  other  subjects  he  was  not  so  fluent ;  and  on 
political  and  religious  matters  he  tried  hard  to  main- 
tain the  reserve  common  w^ith  those  about  a  court. 
He  succeeded  ill  in  both.  There  were  alw^ays  strong 
.^suspicions  of  his  leaning  to  his  native  side  in  politics  ; 
■  and  during  Bonaparte's  triumph,  he  could  not  contain 
his  enthusiasm  for  the  Republican  chief,  going  even  to 
Paris  to  pay  him  his  homage,  vrhen  First  Consul.  The 
admiration  of  high  colours  and  powerful  effects,  natural 
ito  a  painter,  ^vas  too  strong  for  him.  How  he  managed 
Ithis  matter  w^ith  the  higher  powers  in  England  I  cannot 
isay.  Probably  he  was  the  less  heedful,  inasmuch  as  he 
)W^as  not  very  carefully  paid.  I  believe  he  did  a  great 
ideal  for  George  the  Third  with  little  profit.  Mr.  West 
certainly  kept  his  love  for  Bonaparte  no  secret ;  and  it 
was  no  wonder,  for  the  latter  expressed  admiration  of 
his  pictures.     The  artist  thought  the  conqueror's  smile 

96 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

enchanting,  and  that  he  had  the  handsomest  leg  he  had 
ever  seen.  He  was  present  when  the  "  Venus  de'  Medici  " 
was  talked  of,  the  French  having  just  taken  possession 
of  her.  Bonaparte,  Mr.  West  said,  turned  round  to 
those  about  him,  and  said,  with  his  eyes  lit  up,  "  She's 
coming  !  "  as  if  he  had  been  talking  of  a  living  person. 
I  believe  he  retained  for  the  Emperor  the  love  that  he 
had  had  for  the  First  Consul,  a  wedded  love,  "  for 
better,  for  worse."  However,  I  believe  also  that  he 
retained  it  after  the  Emperor's  downfall — which  is  not 
what  every  painter  did. 

But  I  am  getting  out  of  my  chronology.  The  quiet 
of  Mr.  West's  gallery,  the  tranquil,  intent  beauty  of  the 
statues,  and  the  subjects  of  some  of  the  pictures,  par- 
ticularly Death  on  the  Pale  Horse,  the  Deluge,  the 
Scotch  King  hunting  the  Stag,  Moses  on  Mount  Sinai, 
Christ  Healing  the  Sick  (a  sketch),  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
giving  up  the  Water  to  the  Dying  Soldier,  the  Installa- 
tion of  the  Knights  of  the  Garter,  and  Ophelia  before 
the  King  and  Queen  (one  of  the  best  things  he  ever  did), 
made  a  great  impression  upon  me.  My  mother  and  I 
used  to  go  down  the  gallery,  as  if  we  were  treading  on 
wool.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  stopping  to  look  at  some 
of  the  pictures,  particularly  the  Deluge  and  the  Ophelia, 
with  a  countenance  quite  awe-stricken.  She  used  also 
to  point  out  to  me  the  subjects  relating  to  liberty  and 
patriotism,  and  the  domestic  affections.  Agrippina 
bringing  home  the  ashes  of  Germanicus  was  a  great 
favourite  with  her.  I  remember,  too,  the  awful  delight 
afforded  us  by  the  Angel  slaying  the  Army  of  Sen- 
nacherib ;  a  bright  figure  lording  it  in  the  air,  with  a 
chaos  of  human  beings  below. 

As  Mr.  West  was  almost  sure  to  be  found  at  work,  in 
the  farthest  room,  habited  in  his  white  woollen  gown, 
so  you  might  have  predicted,  with  equal  certainty,  that 
Mrs.  West  was  sitting  in  the  parlour,  reading.  I  used 
to  think,  that  if  I  had  such  a  parlour  to  sit  in,  I  should 
do  just  as  she  did.  It  was  a  good-sized  room,  w^ith  two! 
windows  looking  out  on  the  little  garden  I  spoke  of, 
and  opening  to  it  from  one  of  them  by  a  flight  of  steps. 
The  garden,  with  its  busts  in  it,  and  the  pictures  which 

97  H 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

you  knew  wore  on  the  other  side  of  its  wall,  had  an 
Italian    look.     The    room   was    hung  with    engravings 

♦  and  coloured  prints.  Among  them  was  the  Lion  Hunt, 
from  Rubens  ;  the  Hierarchy  with  the  Godhead,  from 
Rapliael,  which  I  hardly  thought  it  right  to  look  at ; 
and  two  screens  by  the  fireside,  containing  prints  (from 

•  Angelica  Kauffman,  I  think,  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
t   Mr.  West  himself  was  not  the  designer)  of  the  Loves 

of   Angelica  and  Medoro,  which  I  could  have  looked 
^  at  from  morning   to  night.     Angelica's  intent  eyes,  I 
i  thought,  had  the  best  of  it ;  but  I  thought  so  without 
i  knowing  why.     This  gave  me  a  love  for  Ariosto  before 
1 1  knew  him.     I  got  Hoole's  translation,  but  could  make 
'nothing  of  it.^     Angelica  Kauffman  seemed  to  me  to 
'have  done  much  more  for  her  namesake.     She  could 
:see  farther  into  a  pair  of  eyes  than  Mr.  Hoole  w^ith  his 
^spectacles.     This  reminds  me  that  I  could  make  as  little 
.of  Pope's  Homer,   which  a  schoolfellow  of   mine  was 
'always  reading,  and  which  I  was  ashamed  of  not  being 
able  to  like.     It  was  not  that  I  did  not  admire  Pope ; 
but    the    words    in    his  translation  always    took   pre- 
cedence in  my  mind  of  the  things,  and  the  unvarying 
sweetness  of  his  versification  tired  me  before  I  knew 
.the  reason.     This  did  not  hinder  me  afterwards  from 
trying  to  imitate  it ;  nor  from  succeeding ;  that  is  to 
say,   as   far  as  everybody  else  succeeds,   and   writing 
smooth  verses.     It  is  Pope's  wit  and  closeness  that  are 
jthe  difficult  things,  and  that  make  him  what  he  is  :  a 
!truism  which  the  mistakes  of  critics  on  divers  sides 
have  rendered  it  too  warrantable  to  repeat. 

Mrs.  West  and  my  mother  used  to  talk  of  old  times, 
and  Philadelphia,  and  my  father's  prospects  at  court. 
I  sat  apart  w^ith  a  book,  from  which  I  stole  glances  at 
Angelica.  I  had  a  habit  at  that  time  of  holding  my 
breath,  ^vhich  forced  me  every  now  and  then  to  take 
long  sighs.     My  aunt  would  offer  me  a  bribe  not  to 

{*  Hunt  afterwards  translated  this  passage  from  Ariosto,  and  in  a 
note  to  the  verses  (printed  in  Ron tl edge's  edition,  1860)  he  says  "  the 
combined  names  of  Angelica  and  Medoro "  have  become  almost 
synonymous  with  "a  true  lover's  knot."  Mr.  Cosmo  Monkhouse's 
Life  of  Leigh  Hunt,  p.  37.] 

98 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

sigh.  I  would  earn  it  once  or  twice  ;  but  the  sighs 
were  sure  to  return.  These  wagers  I  did  not  care  for  ; 
but  I  remember  being  greatly  mortified  when  Mr.  West 
offered  me  half-a-crown  if  I  would  solve  the  old  ques- 
tion of  "  Who  was  the  father  of  Zebedee's  children  ?  " 
and  I  could  not  tell  him.  He  never  made  his  appear- 
ance till  dinner,  and  returned  to  his  painting-room 
directly  after  it.  And  so  at  tea-time.  The  talk  was 
very  quiet ;  the  neighbourhood  quiet ;  the  servants 
quiet ;  I  thought  the  very  squirrel  in  the  cage  would 
have  made  a  greater  noise  anywhere  else.  James,  the 
porter,  a  fine  tall  fellow,  who  figured  in  his  master's 
pictures  as  an  apostle,  was  as  quiet  as  he  was  strong. 
Standing  for  his  picture  had  become  a  sort  of  religion 
with  him.  Even  the  butler,  with  his  little  twinkling 
eyes,  full  of  pleasant  conceit,  vented  his  notions  of 
himself  in  half-tones  and  whispers.  This  was  a  strange 
fantastic  person.  He  got  my  brother  Robert  to  take 
a  likeness  of  him,  small  enough  to  be  contained  in  a 
shirt-pin.  It  was  thought  that  his  twinkling  eyes, 
albeit  not  young,  had  some  fair  cynosure  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. What  was  my  brother's  amazement,  when, 
the  next  time  he  saw  him,  the  butler  said,  with  a  face 
of  enchanted  satisfaction,  "  Well,  sir,  you  see  ! "  making 
a  movement  at  the  same  time  with  the  frill  at  his 
waistcoat.  The  miniature  that  was  to  be  given  to  the 
object  of  his  affections,  had  been  given  accordingly. 
It  was  in  his  own  bosom ! 

But,  notwithstanding  my  delight  with  the  house  at 
the  West  End  of  the  town,  it  was  not  to  compare  with 
my  beloved  one  in  the  City.  There  was  quiet  in  the 
one ;  there  were  beautiful  statues  and  pictures ;  and 
there  was  my  Angelica  for  me,  with  her  intent  eyes, 
at  the  fireside.  But  besides  quiet  in  the  other,  there 
was  cordiality,  and  there  was  music,  and  a  family 
brimful    of    hospitality    and    good-nature,    and    dear 

Almeria    (now^    Mrs.    P e),    who    in    vain    pretends 

that  she  has  become  aged,  which  is  what  she  never  did, 
shall,  would,  might,  should,  or  could  do.  Those  were 
indeed  holidays,  on  which  I  used  to  go  to  Austin  Friars. 
The  house  (such,  at  least,  are  my  boyish  recollections) 

99 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

was  of  the  description  I  have  ever  been  fondest  of, — 
large,  rambling,  old-fashioned,  solidly  built,  resembling 
the  mansions  about  Highgate  and  other  old  villages. 

It  was  furnished  as  became  the  house  of  a  rich  mer- 
chant and  a  sensible  man,  the  comfort  predominating 
over  the  costliness.  At  the  back  was  a  garden  \vith  a 
lawn  ;  and  a  private  door  opened  into  another  garden, 
belonging  to  the  Company  of  Drapers ;  so  that,  what 
with  the  secluded  nature  of  the  street  itself,  and  these 
verdant  places  behind  it,  it  was  truly  i^us  in  ur^be,  and 
a  retreat.  When  I  turned  down  the  archway,  I  held 
my  mother's  hand  tighter  with  pleasure,  and  was  full 
of  expectation,  and  joy,  and  respect.  My  first  delight 
■was  in  mounting  the  staircase  to  the  rooms  of  the 
young  ladies,  setting  my  eyes  on  the  comely  and  bright 
countenance  of  my  fair  friend,  with  her  romantic  name, 
and  turning  over  for  the  hundredth  time  the  books  in 
her  library.  What  she  did  with  the  volumes  of  the 
Turkish  Spy,  what  they  meant,  or  what  amusement 
she  could  extract  from  them,  was  an  eternal  mystifica- 
tion to  me.  Not  long  ago,  meeting  with  a  copy  of  the 
book  accidentally,  I  pounced  upon  my  old  acquaintance, 
and  found  him  to  contain  better  and  more  amusing 
stuff  than  people  would  suspect  from  his  dry  look  and 
his  obsolete  politics.^ 

The  face  of  tenderness  and  respect  with  which 
Almeria  used  to  welcome  my  mother,  springing  for- 
ward with  her  fine  buxom  figure  to  supply  the  strength 
which  the  other  wanted,  and  showing  what  an  equality 
of  love  there  may  be  between  youth  and  middle  age, 
and  rich  and  poor,  I  should  never  cease  to  love  her  for, 
had  she  not  been,  as  she  was,  one  of  the  best-natured 
persons  in  the  world  in  everything.  I  have  not  seen 
her  now  for  a  great  many  years  ;  but,  with  that  same 
face,  w^hatever  change  she  may  pretend  to  find  in  it. 


1  The  Turkish  Spy  is  a  sort  of  philosophical  newspaper,  in  volumes ; 
and,  under  a  mask  of  bigotry,  speculates  very  freely  on  all  subjects. 
It  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  an  Italian  Jesuit  of  the  name  of 
Marana.  The  first  volume  has  been  attributed,  however,  to  Sir 
Roger  Manley,  father  of  the  author  of  the  Atalantis  :  and  the  rest 
to  Dr.  Midgley,  a  friend  of  his. 

100 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

she  will  go  to  heaven ;  for  it  is  the  face  of  her  spirit. 
A  good  heart  never  grows  old. 

Of  George  T[hornton],  her  brother,  who  will  pardon 
this  omission  of  his  worldly  titles,  w^hatever  they  may 
be,  I  have  a  similar  kind  of  recollection,  in  its  propor- 
tion ;  for,  though  we  knew  him  thoroughly,  w^e  saw 
him  less.  The  sight  of  his  face  was  an  additional  sun- 
shine to  my  holiday.  He  was  very  generous  and  hand- 
some-minded ;  a  genuine  human  being. 

Mrs.  T[hornton],  the  mother,  a  very  lady-like  woman, 
in  a  delicate  state  of  health,  w^e  usually  found  reclining 
on  a  sofa,  always  ailing,  but  always  with  a  smile  for 
us.  The  father,  a  man  of  large  habit  of  body,  panting 
with  asthma,  whom  we  seldom  saw  but  at  dinner, 
treated  us  with  all  the  family  delicacy,  and  would  have 
me  come  and  sit  next  him,  which  I  did  with  a  mixture 
of  joy  and  dread ;  for  it  w^as  painful  to  hear  him 
breathe.  I  dwell  the  more  upon  these  attentions, 
because  the  school  that  I  was  in  held  a  sort  of 
equivocal  rank  in  point  of  what  is  called  respect- 
ability ;  and  it  was  no  less  an  honour  to  another, 
than  to  ourselves,  to  know  when  to  place  us  upon  a 
liberal  footing.  Young  as  I  was,  I  felt  this  point 
strongly  ;  and  was  touched  with  as  grateful  a  tender- 
ness towards  those  who  treated  me  handsomely,  as  I 
retreated  inwardly  upon  a  proud  consciousness  of  my 
Greek  and  Latin,  when  the  supercilious  would  have 
humbled  me.  Blessed  house  !  May  a  blessing  be  upon 
your  rooms,  and  your  lawn,  and  your  neighbouring 
garden,  and  the  quiet  old  monastic  name  of  your 
street !  and  may  it  never  be  a  thoroughfare  !  and  may 
all  your  inmates  be  happy  !  Would  to  God  one  could 
renew,  at  a  moment's  notice,  the  happy  hours  w^e  have 
enjoyed  in  past  times,  with  the  same  circles,  and  in  the 
same  houses  !  A  planet  with  such  a  privilege  would  be 
a  great  lift  nearer  heaven.  What  prodigious  evenings, 
reader,  we  would  have  of  it !  What  fine  pieces  of 
childhood,  of  youth,  of  manhood — ay,  and  of  age,  as 
long  as  our  friends  lasted  ! 

The  old  gentleman  in  Gil  Bias,  who  complained  that 
the  peaches  were  not  so  fine  as  they  used  to  be  when 

101 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

he  was  young,  had  more  reason  than  appears  on  the 
face  of  it.  He  missed  not  only  his  former  palate,  but 
the  places  he  ate  thena  in,  and  those  who  ate  them 
with  him.  I  have  been  told,  that  the  cranberries  I 
have  met  with  since  must  have  been  as  fine  as  those 
I  got  with  the  T[hornton's] ;  as  large  and  as  juicy  ;  and 
that  they  came  from  the  same  place.  For  all  that, 
I  never  ate  a  cranberry-tart  since  I  dined  in  Austin 
Friars. 

I  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  A[lmeria]  T[hornton] 
had  I  been  old  enough.  As  it  was,  my  first  flame,  or 
my  first  notion  of  a  flame,  which  is  the  same  thing  in 
those  days,  was  for  my  giddy  cousin  Fanny  Dayrell,  a 
charming  West  Indian.  Her  mother,  the  aunt  ^  I  spoke 
of,  had  just  come  from  Barbados  with  her  two 
daughters  and  a  sister.  She  was  a  woman  of  a 
princely  spirit  ;  and  having  a  good  property,  and 
every  wish  to  make  her  relations  more  comfortable, 
she  did  so.  It  became  holiday  with  us  all.  My 
mother  raised  her  head  ;  my  father  gre^v  young  again  ; 
my  cousin  Kate  (Christiana  jrather,  for  her  name  ^vas 
not  Catherine ;  Christiana  Arabella  was  her  name) 
conceived  a  regard  for  one  of  my  brothers,^  and  mar- 
ried him  ;  and  for  my  part,  besides  my  pictures  and 
Italian  garden  at  Mr.  West's,  and  my  beloved  old 
English  house  in  Austin  Friars,  I  had  now  another 
paradise  in  Great  Ormond  Street. 

My  aunt  had  something  of  the  West  Indian  pride, 
but  all  in  a  good  spirit,  and  was  a  mighty  cultivator 
of  the  gentilities,  inward  as  well  as  outward.  I  did 
not  dare  to  appear  before  her  w^ith  dirty  hands,  she 
would  have  rebuked  me  so  handsomely.  For  some 
reason  or  other,  the  marriage  of  my  brother  and  his 
cousin  was  kept  secret  for  a  little  w^hile.  I  became 
acquainted  with  it  by  chance,  coming  in  upon  a 
holiday,  the  day  the  ceremony  took  place.  Instead  of 
keeping  me  out  of  the  secret  by  a  trick,  they  very 
wisely  resolved  upon  trusting  me  with  it,  and  relying 
upon  my  honour.     My  honour  happened  to  be  put  to 

['  Mrs.  Dayrell,  7i<?e  Elizabeth  Hunt.] 
['-  Stephen  Sherwell  Hunt,  the  lawyer.] 

102 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

the  test,  and  I  came  o£P  with  flying  colours.  It  is  to 
this  circumstance  I  trace  the  religious  idea  I  have  ever 
since  entertained  of  keeping  a  secret.  I  vs^ent  with  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  to  church,  and  remember  kneel- 
ing apart  and  weeping  bitterly.  My  tears  were  un- 
accountable to  me  then.  Doubtless  they  were  owing 
to  an  instinctive  sense  of  the  great  change  that  was 
taking  place  in  the  lives  of  two  human  beings,  and  of 
the  unalterableness  of  the  engagement.  Death  and 
Life  seem  to  come  together  on  these  occasions,  like 
awful  guests  at  a  feast,  and  look  one  another  in  the 
face. 

It  was  not  with  such  good  effect  that  my  aunt  raised 
my  notions  of  a  schoolboy's  pocket-money  to  half- 
crowns,  and  crowns,  and  half -guineas.  My  father  and 
mother  were  both  as  generous  as  daylight ;  but  they 
could  not  give  what  they  had  not.  I  had  been  unused 
to  spending,  and  accordingly  I  spent  with  a  vengeance. 
I  remember  a  ludicrous  instance.  The  first  half -guinea 
that  I  received  brought  about  me  a  consultation  of 
companions  to  know  how  to  get  rid  of  it.  One  shilling 
was  devoted  to  pears,  another  to  apples,  another  to 
cakes,  and  so  on,  all  to  be  bought  immediately,  as  they 
were  ;  till  coming  to  the  sixpence,  and  being  struck 
with  a  recollection  that  I  ought  to  do  something  useful 
with  that,  I  bought  sixpenn'rth  of  shoe-strings  :  these, 
no  doubt,  vanished  like  the  rest.  The  next  half-guinea 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  master :  he  interfered, 
which  was  one  of  his  proper  actions  ;  and  my  aunt 
practised  more  self-denial  in  future. 

Our  new  family  from  abroad  were  true  West  Indians, 
or,  as  they  would  have  phrased  it,  "true  Barbadians 
born."  They  were  generous,  warm-tempered,  had  great 
good-nature ;  were  proud,  but  not  unpleasantly  so  ; 
lively,  yet  indolent ;  temperately  epicurean  in  their 
diet ;  fond  of  company,  and  dancing,  and  music  ;  and 
lovers  of  show,  but  far  from  withholding  the  substance. 
I  speak  chiefly  of  the  mother  and  daughters.  My 
other  aunt,^  an  elderly  maiden,  who  piqued  herself  on 

['  Ann  Courthope  Hunt.] 

103 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

tlie  delicacy  of  her  hands  and  ankles,  and  made  you 
understand  how  many  suitors  she  had  refused  (for 
which  she  expressed  anything  but  repentance,  being 
extremely  vexed),  was  not  deficient  in  complexional 
good-nature ;  but  she  was  narrow-minded,  and  seemed 
to  care  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  two  things  : 
first,  for  her  elder  niece  Kate,  whom  she  had  helped 
to  nurse ;  and  second,  for  a  becoming  set-out  of 
coffee  and  buttered  toast,  particularly  of  a  morn- 
ing, when  it  was  taken  up  to  her  in  bed,  with  a 
suitable  equipage  of  silver  and  other  necessaries  of 
life.  Yes;  there  was  one  more  indispensable  thing 
— slavery.  It  was  frightful  to  hear  her  small 
mouth  and  little  mincing  tones  assert  the  necessity 
not  only  of  slaves,  but  of  robust  corporal  punish- 
ment to  keep  them  to  their  duty.  But  she  did  this, 
because  her  want  of  ideas  could  do  no  otherwise. 
Having  had  slaves,  she  wondered  how  anybody  could 
object  to  so  natural  and  lady-like  an  establishment. 
Late  in  life,  she  took  to  fancying  that  every  polite 
old  gentleman  was  in  love  with  her  ;  and  thus  she 
lived  on,  till  her  dying  moment,  in  a  flutter  of  expec- 
tation. 

The  black  servant  must  have  puzzled  this  aunt  of 
mine  sometimes.  All  the  wonder  of  which  she  was 
capable,  he  certainly  must  have  roused,  not  without  a 
"  quaver  of  consternation."  This  man  had  come  over 
with  them  from  the  West  Indies.  He  was  a  slave  on 
my  aunt's  estate,  and  as  such  he  demeaned  himself,  till 
he  learned  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  slave  in 
England ;  that  the  moment  a  man  set  his  foot  on 
English  ground  he  w^as  free.  I  cannot  help  smiling  to 
think  of  the  bewildered  astonishment  into  which  his 
first  overt  act,  in  consequence  of  this  knowledge,  must 
have  put  my  poor  aunt  Courthope  (for  that  was  her 
Christian  name).  Most  likely  it  broke  out  in  the  shape 
of  some  remonstrance  about  his  fellow-servants.  He 
partook  of  the  pride  common  to  all  the  Barbadians,  black 
as  well  as  white ;  and  the  maid-servants  tormented 
him.  I  remember  his  coming  up  in  the  parlour  one 
day,  and  making  a    ludicrous    representation    of    the 

104 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

affronts  put  upon  his  office  and  person,  interspersing 
his  chattering  and  gesticulations  with  explanatory  dumb 
show.  One  of  the  maids  was  a  pretty  girl,  who  had 
manoeuvred  till  she  got  him  stuck  in  a  corner  ;  and 
he  insisted  upon  telling  us  all  that  she  said  and  did. 
His  respect  for  himself  had  naturally  increased  since  he 
became  free ;  but  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
Poor  Samuel  was  not  ungenerous,  after  his  fashion. 
He  also  wished,  with  his  freedom,  to  acquire  a  freeman's 
knowledge,  but  stuck  fast  at  pothooks  and  hangers. 
To  frame  a  written  B  he  pronounced  a  thing  impossible. 
Of  his  powers  on  the  violin  he  made  us  more  sensible, 
not  without  frequent  remonstrances,  which  it  must  have 
taken  all  my  aunt's  good-nature  to  make  her  repeat. 
He  had  left  two  wives  in  Barbados,  one  of  whom  was 
brought  to  bed  of  a  son  a  little  after  he  came  away. 
For  this  son  he  wanted  a  name,  that  was  new,  sounding, 
and  long.  They  referred  him  to  the  reader  of  Homer 
and  Virgil.  With  classical  names  he  was  well  ac- 
quainted. Mars  and  Venus  being  among  his  most  inti- 
mate friends,  besides  Jupiters  and  Adonises,  and 
Dianas  with  large  families.  At  length  we  succeeded 
with  Neoptolemus.  He  said  he  had  never  heard  it 
before  ;  and  he  made  me  write  it  for  him  in  a  great 
text-hand,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake. 

My  aunt  took  a  country-house  at  Merton,  in  Surrey, 
where  I  passed  three  of  the  happiest  weeks  of  my  life. 
It  was  the  custom  at  our  school,  in  those  days,  to  allow 
us  only  one  set  of  unbroken  holidays  during  the  whole 
time  we  were  there — I  mean,  holidays  in  which  we  re- 
mained away  from  school  by  night  as  well  as  by  day. 
The  period  was  always  in  August.  Imagine  a  school- 
boy passionately  fond  of  the  green  fields,  who  had  never 
slept  out  of  the  heart  of  the  City  for  years.  It  was  a 
compensation  even  for  the  pang  of  leaving  my  friend  ; 
and  then  what  letters  I  would  write  to  him  !  And  what 
letters  I  did  write !  What  full  measure  of  affection 
pressed  down,  and  running  over  !  I  read,  walked,  had 
a  garden  and  orchard  to  run  in  ;  and  fields  that  I 
could  have  rolled  in,  to  have  my  will  of  them. 

My  father   accompanied    me   to    Wimbledon    to    see 

105 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Home  Tooke/  who  patted  me  on  the  head.  I  felt  very 
dififerently  under  his  hand,  and  under  that  of  the  bishop 
of  London,^  when  he  confirmed  a  crowd  of  us  in  St. 
Paul's.  Not  that  I  thought  of  politics,  though  I  had  a 
sense  of  his  being  a  patriot ;  but  patriotism,  as  well  as 
everything  else,  was  connected  in  my  mind  with  some- 
thing classical,  and  Home  Tooke  held  his  political  repu- 
tation with  me  by  the  same  tenure  that  he  held  his 
fame  for  learning  and  grammatical  knowledge.  "  The 
learned  Horne  Tooke  "  was  the  designation  by  which  I 
styled  him  in  some  verses  I  wrote  ;  in  which  verses,  by 
the  way,  with  a  poetical  licence  which  would  have  been 
thought  more  classical  by  Queen  Elizabeth  than  my 
master,  I  called  my  aunt  a  "  nymph."  In  the  ceremony 
of  confirmation  by  the  bishop,  there  was  something  too 
official,  and  like  a  despatch  of  business,  to  excite  my 
veneration.  My  head  only  anticipated  the  coming  of 
his  hand  with  a  thrill  in  the  scalp :  and  when  it  came, 
it  tickled  me. 

My  cousins  had  the  celebrated  Dr.  Callcott^  for  a 
music-master.  The  doctor,  who  was  a  scholar  and  a 
great  reader,  w^as  so  pleased  with  me  one  day  for  being 
able  to  translate  the  beginning  of  Xenophon's  Anabasis 
(one  of  our  schoolbooks),  that  he  took  me  out  wath  him 
to  Nunn's  the  bookseller's  in  Great  Queen  Street,  and 
made  me  a  present  of  Schrevelius's  Lexicon.  When  he 
came  down  to  Merton,  he  let  me  ride  his  horse.  What 
days  were  those !  Instead  of  being  roused  against  my 
will  by  a  bell,  I  jumped  up  with  the  lark,  and  strolled 
"  out  of  bounds."    Instead  of  bread  and  water  for  break- 


[*  John  Home  Tooke  (1736-1812).  His  paternal  name  was 
Home,  but,  on  inheriting  a  sum  of  money  from  a  Mr.  Tooke,  he 
assumed  that  name.  He  entered  Holy  Orders,  and  was  at  one  time 
associated  with  John  Wilkes,  with  whom  he  subsequently  quarrelled. 
He  was  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  government,  was  imprisoned 
for  libel  in  1775,  and  on  another  occasion  tried  for  treason,  but  ac- 
quitted. Having  resigned  his  living,  he  entered  as  a  student  in  the 
Temple,  but  was  refused  admission  to  the  Bar.  He  is  chiefly  re- 
membered as  the  author  of  a  philological  work  entitled  The  Diver- 
sions of  Purley.] 

[2  Beilby  Porteous  (1731-1808),  Bishop  of  London  from  1787  to  1808.] 
P  John    Wall   Callcott,  Mus.  Doc.  (1766-1821),  the  author  of  TJi^ 
Musical  Grammar  and  a  number  of  popular  compositions.] 

106 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

fast,  I  had  coffee,  and  tea,  and  buttered  toast :  for 
dinner,  not  a  hunk  of  bread  and  a  modicum  of  hard 
meat,  or  a  bowl  of  pretended  broth  ;  but  fish,  and  fowl, 
and  noble  hot  joints,  and  puddings,  and  sweets,  and 
Guava  jellies,  and  other  West  Indian  mysteries  of 
peppers  and  preserves,  and  wine  ;  and  then  I  had  tea ; 
and  I  sat  up  to  supper  like  a  man,  and  lived  so  well, 
that  I  might  have  been  very  ill,  had  I  not  run  about  all 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

My  strolls  about  the  fields  with  a  book  were  full  of 
happiness :  only  my  dress  used  to  get  me  stared  at  by 
the  villagers.  Walking  one  day  by  the  little  river 
Wandle,  I  came  upon  one  of  the  loveliest  girls  I  ever 
beheld,  standing  in  the  water  with  bare  legs,  washing 
some  linen.  She  turned  as  she  was  stooping,  and 
showed  a  blooming  oval  face  with  blue  eyes,  on  either 
side  of  which  flo^ved  a  profusion  of  flaxen  locks.  With 
the  exception  of  the  colour  of  the  hair,  it  was  like 
Raphael's  own  head  turned  into  a  peasant  girl's.  The 
eyes  were  full  of  gentle  astonishment  at  the  sight  of 
me  ;  and  mine  must  have  wondered  no  less.  However, 
I  was  prepared  for  such  wonders.  It  was  only  one  of 
my  poetical  visions  realized,  and  I  expected  to  find  the 
world  full  of  them.  What  she  thought  of  my  blue 
skirts  and  yellow  stockings  is  not  so  clear.  She  did  not, 
however,  taunt  me  with  my  "  petticoats,"  as  the  girls  in 
the  streets  of  London  would  do,  making  me  blush,  as  I 
thought  they  ought  to  have  done  instead.  My  beauty 
in  the  brook  was  too  gentle  and  dilffident  ;  at  least  I 
thought  so,  and  my  own  heart  did  not  contradict  me. 
I  then  took  every  beauty  for  an  Arcadian,  and  every 
brook  for  a  fairy  stream  ;  and  the  reader  would  be  sur- 
prised if  he  knew  to  w^hat  an  extent  I  have  a  similar 
tendency  still.  I  find  the  same  possibilities  by  another 
path. 

I  do  not  remember  whether  an  Abbe  Paris,  who 
taught  my  cousins  French,  used  to  see  them  in  the 
country  ;  but  I  never  shall  forget  him  in  Ormond 
Street.  He  was  an  emigrant,  very  gentlemanly,  with 
a  face  of  remarkable  benignity,  and  a  voice  that  became 
it.     He  spoke  English  in  a  slow  manner,  that  was  very 

107 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

graceful.  I  sliall  never  forget  his  saying  one  day,  in 
answer  to  somebody  who  pressed  him  on  the  subject,  and 
in  the  mildest  of  tones,  that  without  doubt  it  was  im- 
possible to  be  saved  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 

One  contrast  of  this  sort  reminds  me  of  another. 
My  aunt  Courthope  had  something  growing  out  on  one 
of  her  knuckles,  which  she  was  afraid  to  let  a  sur- 
geon look  at.  There  was  a  Dr.  Chapman,  a  West 
Indian  physician,  who  came  to  see  us,  a  person  of  great 
suavity  of  manners,  with  all  that  air  of  languor  and 
w^ant  of  energy  which  the  West  Indians  often  exhibit. 
He  was  in  the  habit  of  inquiring,  with  the  softest  voice 
in  the  world,  how  my  aunt's  hand  was  ;  and  coming  one 
day  upon  us  in  the  midst  of  dinner,  and  sighing  forth 
his  usual  question,  she  gave  it  him  over  her  shoulder  to 
look  at.  In  a  moment  she  shrieked,  and  the  swelling 
was  gone.  The  meekest  of  doctors  had  done  it  away 
with  his  lancet. 

I  had  no  draw^back  on  my  felicity  at  Merton,  with  the 
exception  of  an  occasional  pang  at  my  friend's  absence 
and  a  new  vexation  that  surprised  and  mortified  me. 
I  had  been  accustomed  at  school  to  sleep  with  sixty 
boys  in  the  room,  and  some  old  night-fears  that  used 
to  haunt  me  w^ere  forgotten.  No  Mantichoras  there  I — 
no  old  men  crawling  on  the  floor  I  What  was  my 
chagrin,  when  on  sleeping  alone,  after  so  long  a  period, 
I  found  my  terrors  come  back  again  ! — not,  indeed,  in 
all  the  same  shapes.  Beasts  could  frighten  me  no  longer  : 
but  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  any  other  ghastly  fiction 
that  presented  itself  to  my  mind,  crawling  or  ramping. 
I  struggled  hard  to  say  nothing  about  it ;  but  my  days 
began  to  be  discoloured  with  fears  of  my  nights ;  and 
with  unutterable  humiliation  I  begged  that  the  foot- 
man might  be  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  same  room. 
Luckily,  my  request  was  attended  to  in  the  kindest  and 
most  reconciling  manner.  I  was  pitied  for  my  fears, 
but  praised  for  my  candour — a  balance  of  qualities 
which  I  have  reason  to  believe,  did  me  a  service  far 
beyond  that  of  the  moment.  Samuel,  who,  fortunately 
for  my  shame,  had  a  great  respect  for  fear  of  this  kind, 

108 


1 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

had  his  bed  removed  accordingly  into  my  room.  He 
used  to  entertain  me  at  night  with  stories  of  Barbados 
and  the  negroes ;  and  in  a  few  days  I  was  reassured 
and  happy. 

It  was  then  (oh,  shame  that  I  must  speak  of  fair 
lady  after  confessing  a  heart  so  faint !) — it  was  then 
that  I  fell  in  love  with  my  cousin  Fan.  However,  I 
would  have  fought  all  her  young  acquaintances  round 
for  her,  timid  as  I  was,  and  little  inclined  to  pugnacity. 

Fanny  was  a  lass  of  fifteen,  with  little  laughing  eyes, 
and  a  mouth  like  a  plum.  I  was  then  (I  feel  as  if  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  say  it)  not  more  than  thirteen, 
if  so  old ;  but  I  had  read  Tooke's  Pantheon,  and  came 
of  a  precocious  race.  My  cousin  came  of  one  too,  and 
was  about  to  be  married  to  a  handsome  young  fellow 
of  three-and-twenty.  I  thought  nothing  of  this,  for 
nothing  could  be  more  innocent  than  my  intentions.  I 
was  not  old  enough,  or  grudging  enough,  or  whatever 
it  was,  even  to  be  jealous.  I  thought  everybody  must 
love  Fanny  Dayrell ;  and  if  she  did  not  leave  me  out  in 
permitting  it,  I  was  satisfied.  It  w^as  enough  for  me  to 
be  with  her  as  long  as  I  could ;  to  gaze  on  her  with 
delight  as  she  floated  hither  and  thither ;  and  to  sit  on 
the  stiles  in  the  neighbouring  fields,  thinking  of  Tooke's 
Pantheon.  My  friendship  was  greater  than  my  love. 
Had  my  favourite  schoolfellow  been  ill,  or  otherwise 
demanded  my  return,  I  should  certainly  have  chosen 
his  society  in  preference.  Three-fourths  of  my  heart 
w^ere  devoted  to  friendship ;  the  rest  was  in  a  vague 
dream  of  beauty,  and  female  cousins,  and  nymphs,  and 
green  fields,  and  a  feeling  which,  though  of  a  warm 
nature,  was  full  of  fear  and  respect. 

Had  the  jade  put  me  on  the  least  equality  of  footing 
as  to  age,  I  know  not  what  change  might  have  been 
wrought  in  me ;  but  though  too  young  herself  for  the 
serious  duties  she  was  about  to  bring  on  her,  and  full  of 
sufficient  levity  and  gaiety  not  to  be  uninterested  with 
the  little  black-eyed  schoolboy  that  lingered  about 
her,  my  vanity  was  well  paid  off  by  hers,  for  she  kept 
me  at  a  distance  by  calling  me  petit  gargon,  This  was 
no  better  than  the  assumption  of  an  elder  sister  in  her 

109 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

teens  over  a  younger  one  ;  but  the  latter  feels  it,  never- 
theless ;  and  I  persuaded  myself  that  it  was  particularly 
cruel.  I  wished  the  Abbe  Paris  at  Jamaica  with  his 
French.  There  would  she  come  in  her  frock  and  tucker 
(for  she  had  not  yet  left  off  either),  her  curls  dancing, 
and  her  hands  clasped  together  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
something  to  tell  me,  and  when  I  flew  to  meet  her, 
forgetting  the  difference  of  ages,  and  alive  only  to  my 
charming  cousin,  she  would  repress  me  with  a  little 
fillip  on  the  cheek,  and  say,  "  Well,  petit  garqon,  what  do 
you  think  of  that?"  The  worst  of  it  was,  that  this 
odious  French  phrase  sat  unsufferably  well  upon  her 
plump  little  mouth.  She  and  I  used  to  gather  peaches 
before  the  house  were  up.  I  held  the  ladder  for  her  ; 
she  mounted  like  a  fairy  ;  and  when  I  stood  doting  on 
her  as  she  looked  down  and  threw  the  fruit  in  my  lap, 
she  would  cry,  ''  Petit  garqon,  you  will  let 'em  all  drop  !" 
On  my  return  to  school,  she  gave  me  a  locket  for  a 
keepsake,  in  the  shape  of  a  heart ;  which  was  the  worst 
thing  she  ever  did  to  the  petit  gargon,  for  it  touched 
me  on  my  weak  side,  and  looked  like  a  sentiment.  I 
believe  I  should  have  had  serious  thoughts  of  becoming 
melancholy,  had  I  not,  in  returning  to  school,  returned 
to  my  friend  and  so  found  means  to  occupy  my  craving 
for  sympathy.  However,  I  wore  the  heart  a  long 
while.  I  have  sometimes  thought  there  ^vas  more  in 
her  French  than  I  imagined ;  but  I  believe  not.  She 
naturally  took  herself  for  double  my  age,  with  a 
lover  of  three-and-twenty.  Soon  after  her  marriage, 
fortune  separated  us  for  many  years.  My  passion  had 
almost  as  soon  died  away  ;  but  I  have  loved  the  name 
of  Fanny  ever  since ;  and  when  I  met  her  again,  which 
was  under  circumstances  of  trouble  on  her  part,  I 
could  not  see  her  without  such  an  emotion  as  I  was 
fain  to  confess  to  a  person  "  near  and  dear,"  who  for- 
gave me  for  it ;  which  made  me  love  the  forgiver  the 
more.  Yes  !  the  "  black  ox  "  trod  on  the  fairy  foot  of 
my  light-hearted  cousin  Fan  ;  of  her,  whom  I  could  no 
more  have  thought  of  in  conjunction  with  sorrow,  than 
of  a  ball-room  with  a  tragedy.  To  know  that  she 
was  rich  and  admired,   and  abounding  in  mirth    and 

110 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

music,  was  to  me  the  same  thing  as  to  know  that  she 
existed.  How  often  did  I  afterwards  wish  myself  rich 
in  turn,  that  I  might  have  restored  to  her  all  the  graces 
of  life  !  She  was  generous,  and  w^ould  not  have  denied 
me  the  satisfaction. 

This  was  my  first  love.  That  for  a  friend's  sister  was 
my  second,  and  not  so  strong ;  for  it  was  divided  with 
the  admiration  of  which  I  have  spoken  for  the  Park 
music  and  "  the  soldiers."  Nor  had  the  old  tendency  to 
mix  up  the  clerical  with  the  military  service  been 
forgotten.  Indeed,  I  have  never  been  without  a  clerical 
tendency ;  nor,  after  what  I  have  written  for  the 
genial  edification  of  my  fellow-creatures,  and  the 
extension  of  charitable  and  happy  thoughts  in  matters 
of  religion,  would  I  be  thought  to  speak  of  it  without 
even  a  certain  gravity,  not  compromised  or  turned  into 
levity,  in  my  opinion,  by  any  cheerfulness  of  tone  with 
which  it  may  happen  to  be  associated  ;  for  Heaven  has 
made  smiles  as  well  as  tears  :  has  made  laughter  itself, 
and  mirth  ;  and  to  appreciate  its  gifts  thoroughly  is  to 
treat  none  of  them  with  disrespect,  or  to  affect  to  be 
above  them.  The  w^hoUy  gay  and  the  w^holly  grave 
spirit  is  equally  but  half  the  spirit  of  a  right  human 
creature. 

I  mooted  points  of  faith  with  myself  very  early, 
in  consequence  of  what  I  heard  at  home.  The  very 
inconsistencies  which  I  observed  round  about  me  in 
matters  of  belief  and  practice,  did  but  the  more  make 
me  wish  to  discover  in  w^hat  the  right  spirit  of  religion 
consisted  :  w^hile,  at  the  same  time,  nobody  felt  more 
instinctively  than  myself,  that  forms  were  necessary  to 
preserve  essence.  I  had  the  greatest  respect  for  them, 
wherever  I  thought  them  sincere.  I  got  up  imitations  of 
religious  processions  in  the  school-room,  and  persuaded 
my  coadjutors  to  learn  even  a  psalm  in  the  original 
Hebrew,  in  order  to  sing  it  as  part  of  the  ceremony.  To 
make  the  lesson  as  easy  as  possible,  it  was  the  shortest 
of  all  the  psalms,  the  hundred  and  seventeenth,  which 
consists  but  of  two  verses.  A  Jew,  I  am  afraid,  would 
have  been  puzzled  to  recognize  it ;  though,  perhaps,  I 
got  the  tone  from  his  own  synagogue ;  for  I  was  well 

111 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

acqnaititod  with  that  place  of  worship.     I  was  led  to 
dislike  Catholic  ehaiiels,   in   spite   of  their  music   and 
Itheir  paintings,  by  what  I  had  read  of  Inquisitions,  and 
Eby  the  impiety  which  I  found  in  the  doctrine  of  eternal 
punishment, — a  monstrosity  which  I  never  associated 
with  the  Church  of  England,  at  least  not  habitually. 
But  identifying  no  such  dogmas  with  the  Jews,  who 
are  indeed  free  from  them  (though  I  was  not  aware  of 
that  circumstance  at  the  time),  and  reverencing  them 
for  their  ancient  connection  with  the  Bible,  I  used  to  go 
^with   some   of   my   companions   to    the   synagogue  in 
(I'Duke's  Place ;  where  I  took  pleasure  in  witnessing  the 
f  semi-Catholic  pomp  of  their  service,  and    in    hearing 
their  fine  singing ;    not  without  something  of  a  con- 
stant astonishment  at  their  wearing  their  hats.     This 
custom,    however,    kindly   mixed   itself    up    with    the 
I  recollection  of  my  cocked  hat  and  band.     I  was  not 
I  aware  that  it  originated   in    the    immovable    Eastern 
Hurban. 

These  visits  to  the  synagogue  did  me,  I  conceive,  a 
great  deal  of  good.  They  served  to  universalize  my 
notions  of  religion,  and  to  keep  them  unbigoted.  It 
never  became  necessary  to  remind  me  that  Jesus  was 
himself  a  Jew.  I  have  also  retained  through  life  a 
respectful  notion  of  the  Jews  as  a  body. 

There  were  some  school  rhymes  about  "  pork  upon  a 
fork,"  and  the  Jews  going  to  prison.  At  Easter,  a 
strip  of  bordered  paper  was  stuck  on  the  breast  of 
ievery  boy,  containing  the  words  "  He  is  risen."  It  did 
not  give  us  the  slightest  thought  of  what  it  recorded. 
It  only  reminded  us  of  an  old  rhyme,  which  some  of 
the  boys  used  to  go  about  the  school  repeating : — 

X  "He  is  risen,  he  is  risen, 

I  All  the  Jews  must  go  to  prison." 

A  beautiful  Christian  deduction  ;  Thus  has  charity 
itself  been  converted  into  a  spirit  of  antagonism  ;  and 
thus  it  is  that  the  antagonism,  in  the  progress  of  know- 
ledge, becomes  first  a  pastime  and  then  a  jest. 

I  never  forgot  the  Jews'  synagogue,  their  music, 
their  tabernacle,  and  the  courtesy  with  which  strangers 

112 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

were  allowed  to  see  it.  I  had  the  pleasure,  before  J^ 
left  school,  of  becoming  acquainted  with  some  memberslj 
of  their  community,  who  w^ere  extremely  liberal 
towards  other  opinions,  and  who,  nevertheless,  enter- 
tained a  sense  of  the  Supreme  Being  far  more  rever- 
ential than  I  had  observed  in  any  Christian,  my  mother 
excepted.  My  feelings  towards  them  received  addi- 
tional encouragement  from  the  respect  shown  to  their' 
history  in  the  paintings  of  Mr.  West,  who  was  anything 
but  a  bigot  himself,  and  who  often  had  Jews  to  sit  to 
him.  I  contemplated  Moses  and  Aaron,  and  the  young 
Levites,  by  the  sweet  light  of  his  picture-rooms,  where 
everybody  trod  about  in  stillness,  as  though  it  were  a 
kind  of  holy  ground  ;  and  if  I  met  a  Rabbi  in  the  street, 
he  seemed  to  me  a  man  coming,  not  from  Bishops- 
gate  or  Saffron  Hill,  but  out  of  the  remoteness  of  time. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  distinguished  individuals  bred  at 
Christ  Hospital,  including  Coleridge  and  Lamb,  who 
left  the  school  not  long  before  I  entered  it.  Coleridge 
I  never  saw  till  he  was  old,  Lamb  I  recollect  coming 
to  see  the  boys,  with  a  pensive,  brown,  handsome,  and 
kindly  face,  and  a  gait  advancing  with  a  motion  from 
side  to  side,  between  involuntary  consciousness  and 
attempted  ease.  His  brown  complexion  may  have 
been  owing  to  a  visit  in  the  country ;  his  air  of  uneasi- 
ness to  a  great  burden  of  sorrow.  He  dressed  with  a 
quaker-like  plainness.  I  did  not  know  him  as  Lamb  : 
I  took  him  for  a  Mr.  "  Guy,"  having  heard  somebody 
address  him  by  that  appellative,  I  suppose  in  jest.^ 

The  boy  whom  I  have  designated  in  these  notices  as 

C n,   and    whose    intellect  in    riper   years   became 

clouded,  had  a  more  than  usual  look  of  being  the  son  of 
old  parents.  He  had  a  reputation  among  us,  which,  in 
more  superstitious  times,  might  have  rendered  him  an 
object  of  dread.  We  thought  he  knew  a  good  deal  out 
of  the  pale  of  ordinary  inquiries.  He  studied  the 
weather  and  the  stars,  things  which  boys  rarely  trouble 
their  heads  with  ;  and  as  I  had  an  awe  of  thunder, 
which  always  brought  a  reverential  shade  on  my 
mother's  face,  as  if  God  had  been  speaking,  I  used  to 
*  For  explanation  of  "Mr.  Guy"  see  Appendix. 

113  I 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

send  to  him  on  close  summer  days,  to  know  if  thunder 
was  to  be  expected. 

In  connection  with  this  mysterious  schoolfellow, 
though  he  was  the  last  person,  in  some  respects,  to  be 
associated  with  him,  I  must  mention  a  strange  epidemic 
fear  which  occasionally  prevailed  among  the  boys 
respecting  a  personage  whom  they  called  the  Fazzer. 
'  The  Fazzer  was  known  to  be  nothing  more  than  one 
of  the  boys  themselves.  In  fact,  he  consisted  of  one  of 
the  most  impudent  of  the  bigger  ones ;  but  as  it  was 
his  custom  to  disguise  his  face,  and  as  this  aggravated 
the  terror  which  made  the  little  boys  hide  their  own 
faces,  his  participation  of  our  common  human  nature 
only  increased  the  supernatural  fearfulness  of  his  pre- 
tensions. His  office  as  Fazzer  consisted  in  being 
audacious,  unknown,  and  frightening  the  boys  at  night ; 
sometimes  by  pulling  them  out  of  their  beds ;  some- 
times by  simply  fazzing  their  hair  ("  fazzing  "  meant 
pulling  or  vexing,  like  a  goblin) ;  sometimes  (which 
was  horriblest  of  all)  by  quietly  giving  us  to  under- 
stand, in  some  way  or  other,  that  the  "  Fazzer  was 
out,"  that  is  to  say,  out  of  his  own  bed,  and  then  being 
seen  (by  those  who  dared  to  look)  sitting,  or  otherwise 
making  his  appearance,  in  his  white  shirt,  motionless 
and  dumb.  It  was  a  very  good  horror,  of  its  kind. 
The  Fazzer  was  our  Dr.  Faustus,  our  elf,  our  spectre, 
our  Flibbertigibbet,  who  "  put  knives  in  our  pillows 
and  halters  in  our  pews."  He  was  Jones,  it  is  true,  or 
Smith  ;  but  he  was  also  somebody  else — an  anomaly,  a 
duality.  Smith  and  sorcery  united.  My  friend  Charles 
Oilier^  should  have  written  a  book  about  him.  He 
was  our  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  and  yet  a  common 
boy. 

\  One  night  I  thought  I  saw  this  phenomenon  under 
circumstances  more  than  usually  unearthly.  It  was  a 
fine  moonlight  night ;  I  was  then  in  a  ward  the  case- 

['  Charles  Oilier  (1788-1859),  publisher  and  author.  In  partnership 
with  his  brother  James,  he  issued  some  of  the  works  of  Leigh  Hunt, 
Shelley  and  Keats.  He  wrote  several  novels  of  which  Inesilla  is  the 
best  kiiown.  Hunt  probably  had  in  mind  his  Fallacy  of  Ghosts, 
Dreams,  and  Omens,  with  stories  of  Witchcraft,  etc."  1848.] 

114 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

ments   of   which    looked    (as   they    still    look)    on    the^ 
churchyard.     My  bed  was  under  the  second  w^indow^i 
from  the  east,  not  far  from  the  statue  of  Edward  the  | 
Sixth.     Happening  to  wake  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  ] 
and  cast  up  my  eyes,  I  saw^,  on  a  bed's  head  near  me,  ' 
and  in  one  of  these  casements,  a  figure  in  its  shirt, 
which  I  took  for  the  Fazzer.     The  room  was  silent ; 
the  figure   motionless ;  I  fancied  that  half  the  boys  in 
the  ward  were  glancing  at  it,  without  daring  to  speak. 

It  was  poor  C n,  gazing  at  that  lunar  orb,   which 

might   afterwards  be   supposed    to    have    malignantly 
fascinated  him. 

Contemporary  with  C n  was  Wood,  before  men- 
tioned, whom  I  admired  for  his  versesi  and  who  was 
afterwards  Fellow  of  Pembroke  College,  Cambridge, 
where  I  visited  him,  and  found  him,  to  my  astonishment, 
a  head  shorter  than  myself.  Every  upper  boy  at  school 
appears  a  giant  to  a  little  one.  "  Big  boy  "  and  senior 
are  synonymous.  Now  and  then,  however,  extreme 
smallness  in  a  senior  scholar  gives  a  new  kind  of 
dignity,  by  reason  of  the  testimony  it  bears  to  the 
ascendancy  of  the  intellect.  It  was  the  custom  for  the 
monitors  at  Christ  Hospital,  during  prayers  before 
meat,  to  stand  fronting  the  tenants  of  their  respective 
wards,  while  the  objects  of  their  attention  were  kneel- 
ing. Looking  up,  on  one  of  these  occasions,  towards  a 
new  monitor  who  was  thus  standing,  and  w^hose  face 
was  unknown  to  me  (for  there  were  six  hundred  of  us, 
and  his  ward  was  not  mine),  I  thought  him  the 
smallest  boy  that  could  ever  have  attained  to  so  dis- 
tinguished an  eminence.  He  was  little  in  person,  little 
in  face,  and  he  had  a  singularly  juvenile  cast  of  features, 
even  for  one  so  petit. 

It  was  Mitchell,  the  translator  of  Aristophanes.  He 
had  really  attained  his  position  prematurely.  I  rose 
afterwards  to  be  next  to  him  in  the  school  ;  and  from  a 
grudge  that  existed  between  us,  owing  probably  to  a 
reserve,  which  I  thought  pride,  on  his  part,  and  to  an 
ardency  which  he  may  have  considered  frivolous  on 
mine,  we  became  friends.  Circumstances  parted  us  in 
after  life  :  I  became  a  Reformist,  and  he  a  Quarterly 

115 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Reviewer  ;  hut  ho  sent  me  kindly  remembrances  not 
lonj^  before  he  died.  I  did  not  know  he  was  declining  ; 
and  it  will  ever  be  a  pain  to  me  to  reflect  that  delay 
conspired  with  accident  to  hinder  my  sense  of  it  from 
being  known  to  him  ;  especially  as  I  learned  that  he  had 
not  been  so  prosperous  as  I  supposed.  He  had  his 
weaknesses  as  well  as  myself,  but  they  were  mixed  with 
conscientious  and  noble  qualities.  Zealous  as  he  was 
for  aristocratical  government,  he  was  no  indiscriminate 
admirer  of  persons  in  high  places  ;  and,  though  it  would 
have  bettered  his  views  in  life,  he  had  declined  taking 
orders,  from  nicety  of  religious  scruple.  Of  his  admir- 
able scholarship  I  need  say  nothing. 

Equally  good  scholar,  but  of  a  less  zealous  tempera- 
ment, was  Barnes,  who  stood  next  me  on  the  Deputy 
Grecian  form,  and  "who  was  afterwards  identified  ^vith 
the  sudden  and  striking  increase  of  the  Times  news- 
paper in  fame  and  influence.  He  was  very  handsome 
when  young,  with  a  profile  of  Grecian  regularity  ;  and 
was  famous  among  us  for  a  certain  dispassionate 
humour,  for  his  admiration  of  the  works  of  Fielding, 
and  for  his  delight,  nevertheless,  in  pushing  a  narrative 
to  its  utmost,  and  drawing  upon  his  stores  of  fancy  for 
intensifying  it ;  an  amusement  for  w^hich  he  possessed 
an  understood  privilege.  It  was  painful  in  after-life  to 
see  his  good  looks  swallowed  up  in  corpulency,  and  his 
once  handsome  mouth  thrusting  its  under  lip  out,  and 
panting  with  asthma.  I  believe  he  was  originally  so 
well  constituted  in  point  of  health  and  bodily  feeling, 
that  he  fancied  he  could  go  on,  all  his  life,  without 
taking  any  of  the  usual  methods  to  preserve  his  com- 
fort. The  editorship  of  the  Times,  which  turned  his 
night  into  day,  and  would  have  been  a  trying  burden  to 
any  man,  completed  the  bad  consequences  of  his  negli- 
gence ;  and  he  died  painfully  before  he  w^as  old. 
Barnes  w^rote  elegant  Latin  verse,  a  classical  English 
style,  and  might  assuredly  have  made  himself  a  name 
in  wit  and  literature,  had  he  cared  much  for  anything 
beyond  his  glass  of  wine  and  his  Fielding.  He  left 
money  to  found  a  Barnes  scholarship  at  Cambridge. 

What  pleasant  days  have  I  not  passed  with  him,  and 

116 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

other  schoolfellows,  bathing  in  the  New  River,  and 
boating  on  the  Thames.  He  and  I  began  to  learn 
Italian  together ;  and  anybody  not  within  the  pale  of 
the  enthusiastic,  might  have  thought  us  mad,  as  we 
went  shouting  the  beginning  of  Metastasio's  Ode  to 
Venus,  as  loud  as  we  could  bawl,  over  the  Hornsey 
fields,  I  can  repeat  it  to  this  day,  from  those  first 
lessons, 

"Scendi  propizia 
Col  tuo  splendore, 
O  bella  Venere, 

Madre  d'Amore  ; 
Madre  d'Amore, 

Che  sola  sei 
Piacer  degli  uomini, 
E  degli  dei."i 

On  the  same  principle  of  making  invocations  as  loud 
as  possible,  and  at  the  same  time  of  fulfilling  the  pro- 
phecy of  a  poet,  and  also  for  the  purpose  of  indulging 
ourselves  with  an  echo,  we  used  to  lie  upon  our  oars  at 
Richmond,  and  call,  in  the  most  vociferous  manner, 
upon  the  spirit  of  Thomson  to  "  rest." 

"Remembrance  oft  shall  haunt  the  shore, 

When  Thames  in  summer  wreaths  is  drest, 
And  oft  suspend  the  dashing  oar 
To  bid  his  gentle  spirit  rest." 

Collinses  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Thomson. 

It  was  more  like  "  perturbing  "  his  spirit  than  laying  it. 

One  day  Barnes  fell  overboard,  and,  on  getting  into 
the  boat  again,  he  drew  a  little  edition  of  Seneca  out  of 
his  pocket,  which  seemed  to  have  become  fat  with  the 
water.     It  was  like  an  extempore  dropsy. 

Another  time,  several  of  us  being  tempted  to  bathe 
on  a  very  hot  day,  near  Hammersmith,  and  not  exer- 
cising sufficient  patience  in  selecting  our  spot,  we  were 
astonished  at  receiving  a  sudden  lecture  from  a  lady. 
She  was  in  a  hat  and  feathers,  and  riding-habit ;  and 
as  the  grounds  turned  out  to  belong  to  the  Margravine 

*"  Descend  propitious  with  thy  brightness,  O  beautiful  Venus, 
Mother  of  Love ; — Mother  of  Love,  who  alone  art  the  pleasure  of 
men  and  of  gods." 

117 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

of  Aiispjic'h  (Lady  Criivon),  wo  persuaded  ourselves  that 
our  adnmiiitrlx,  who  spoke  in  no  measured  terms,  was 
her  Serene  Highness  herself.  The  obvious  reply  to  her 
was,  that  if  it  was  indiscreet  in  us  not  to  have  chosen 
a  more  sequestered  spot,  it  was  not  excessively  the 
reverse  in  a  lady  to  come  and  rebuke  us.  I  related  this 
story  to  my  acquaintance,  Sir  Robert  Ker  Porter,  who 
knew  her.  His  observation  was,  that  nothing  wonder- 
ful was  to  be  wondered  at  in  the  Margravine. 

I  was  fifteen  when  I  put  off  my  band  and  blue  skirts 
for  a  coat  and  neckcloth.  I  w^as  then  first  Deputy 
Grecian,  and  I  had  the  honour  of  going  out  of  the 
school  in  the  same  rank,  at  the  same  age,  and  for  the 
same  reason,  as  my  friend  Charles  Lamb.  The  reason 
was,  that  I  hesitated  in  my  speech.  I  did  not  stammer 
half  so  badly  as  I  used  ;  and  it  is  very  seldom  that  I 
halt  at  a  syllable  now ;  but  it  was  understood  that  a 
Grecian  was  bound  to  deliver  a  public  speech  before  he 
left  school,  and  to  go  into  the  Church  afterwards  ;  and 
;as  I  could  do  neither  of  these  things,  a  Grecian  I  could 
"not  be.  So  I  put  on  my  coat  and  waistcoat,  and,  what 
nvas  stranger,  my  hat ;  a  very  uncomfortable  addition 
jto  my  sensations.  For  eight  years  I  had  gone  bare- 
ptieaded,  save  now  and  then  a  few^  inches  of  pericranium, 
jwhen  the  little  cap,  no  larger  than  a  crumpet,  was 
jstuck  on  one  side,  to  the  mystification  of  the  old  ladies 
jin  the  streets. 

I  then  cared  as  little  for  the  rains  as  I  did  for  any- 
thing else.  I  had  now  a  vague  sense  of  worldly 
trouble,  and  of  a  great  and  serious  change  in  my  con- 
dition ;  besides  which,  I  had  to  quit  my  old  cloisters, 
and  my  playmates,  and  long  habits  of  all  sorts  ;  so  that 
what  was  a  very  happy  moment  to  schoolboys  in 
general,  was  to  me  one  of  the  most  painful  of  my  life. 
I  surprised  my  schoolfeUow\s  and  the  master  with  the 
melancholy  of  my  tears.  I  took  leave  of  my  books,  of 
my  friends,  of  my  seat  in  the  grammar-school,  of  my 
good-hearted  nurse  and  her  daughter,  of  my  bed,  of  the 
cloisters,  and  of  the  very  pump  out  of  which  I  had 
taken  so  many  delicious  draughts,  as  if  I  should  never 
see  them  again,  though  I  meant  to  come  every  day. 

118 


YOUTH 

The    fatal  hat  was  put  on ;    my  father  was   come  ta 
fetch  me. 

"  We,  hand  in  hand,  with  strange  new  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Holborn  took  our  meditative  way."  ^ 


CHAPTER  V 

YOUTH 

[1799-1802] 

FOR  some  time  after  I  left  school,  I  did  nothing  but 
visit  my  schoolfellow^s,  haunt  the  book-stalls,  and 
write  verses.  My  father  collected  the  verses,  and  pub- 
lished them  [in  1802,  under  the  title  oi  Juvenilia  ^],with 
a  large  list  of  subscribers,  numbers  of  whom  belonged 
to  his  old  congregations.  [The  volume  had  a  portrait 
by  Jackson  in  the  manner  of  that  artist,  imparting  to 
it  an  air  of  heavy  laziness,  said  to  have  characterized 
the  artist,  but  certainly  foreign  to  the  sitter.]  I  was 
as  proud,  perhaps,  of  the  book  at  that  time  as  I  am 
ashamed  of  it  now.  The  French  Revolution,  though 
the  worst  portion  of  it  was  over,  had  not  yet  shaken 
up  and  reinvigorated  the  sources  of  thought  all  over 
Europe.  At  least  I  was  not  old  enough,  perhaps  was 
not  able,  to  get  out  of  the  trammels  of  the  regular 
imitative  poetry,  or  versification  rather,  which  was 
taught  in  the  schools.  My  book  was  a  heap  of  imita- 
tions, all  but  absolutely  worthless.  But  absurd  as  it 
was,  it  did  me  a  serious  mischief ;  for  it  made  me  sup- 
pose that  I  had  attained  an  end,  instead  of  not  having 

[^  "They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow. 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way." 

Paradise  Lost,  xii.  649.] 

[^  The  date  in  this  addition  by  Thornton  Hunt  is  incorrect.  The 
following  is  the  title  of  the  first  edition  :  Jmwnilia,  or  a  Col- 
lection of  Poems,  written  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  sixteen  by 
J.  H.  L.  Hunt,  late  of  the  Grammar  School  of  Christ's  Hospital,  and 
dedicated  by  permission  to  the  Hon.  J.  H.  Leigh,  containing  Mis- 
cellanies, Translations,  Sonnets,  Pastorals,  Elegies,  Odes,  Hymns 
and  Anthem.  London,  1801,  2nd  edition  the  same  year,  3rd  edition 
1802 ;  1803  (also  called  the  3rd) ;  1804  (called  the  4th).  The  Portrait 
was  not  by  Jackson  but  by  Bowyer,  a  reproduction  of  which  will  be 
found  in  the  present  edition,] 

119 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

roachcd  even  a  comniencement ;  and  thus  caused  me  to 
waste  in  imitation  a  good  many  years  which  I  ought 
to  have  devoted  to  the  study  of  the  poetical  art  and  of 
nature.  Coleridge  has  praised  Boyer  for  teaching  us 
to  laugh  at  "  muses  "  and  "  Castalian  streams  "  ;  but  he 
ought  rather  to  have  lamented  that  he  did  not  teach  us 
how  to  love  them  wisely,  as  he  might  have  done  had 
he  really  known  anything  about  poetry,  or  loved 
Spenser  and  the  old  poets,  as  he  thought,  and  admired 
the  new.  Even  Coleridge's  juvenile  poems  were  none 
the  better  for  Boyer's  training.  As  to  mine,  they  were 
for  the  most  part  as  mere  trash  as  anti-Castalian  heart 
could  have  desired.  I  wrote  "  odes  "  because  Collins 
and  Gray  had  written  them,  "  pastorals  "  because  Pope 
had  written  them,  "  blank  verse  "  because  Akenside  and 
Thomson  had  written  blank  verse,  and  a  "  Palace  of 
Pleasure "  because  Spenser  had  written  a  "  Bowser  of 
Bliss."  But  in  all  these  authors  I  saw^  little  but  their 
words,  and  imitated  even  those  badly.  I  had  nobody 
to  bid  me  to  go  to  the  nature  which  had  originated  the 
books.  Coleridge's  lauded  teacher  put  into  my  hands, 
at  one  time,  the  life  of  Pope  by  Ruffhead  ^  (the  worst 
he  could  have  chosen),  and  at  another  (for  the  express 
purpose  of  cultivating  my  love  of  poetry)  the  Irene  and 
other  poems  of  Dr.  Johnson  !  Pope's  smooth  but  un- 
artistical  versification  spell-bound  me  for  a  long  time. 
Of  Johnson's  poems  I  retained  nothing  but  the  epigram 
beginning  "  Hermit  hoar — " 

' '  '  Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell, 

Wearing  out  life's  evening  gray, 
Strike  thy  bosom,  sage,  and  tell, 

What  is  bliss,  and  which  the  way  ? ' 

Thus  I  spoke,  and  speaking,  sighed, 
Scarce  repressed  the  starting  tear, 

When  the  hoary  sage  replied, 

'  Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer.' " 

This  was  the  first  epigram  of  the  kind  which  I  had 

['  Owen  'Ruffhead  (1723-1769)  was  a  barrister  who  produced  a 
number  of  miscellaneous  works,  including  an  edition  of  the  statutes 
and  a  LAfe  of  Pope.  He  also  conducted  a  political  periodical  named 
the  Contest.] 

120 


YOUTH 

seen  ;  and  it  had  a  cautionary  effect  upon  me  to  an 
extent  which  its  author  might  hardly  have  desired. 
The  grave  Dr.  Johnson  and  the  rogue  Ambrose  de 
Lamela,  in  Gil  Bias,  stood  side  by  side  in  my  imagina- 
tion as  unmaskers  of  venerable  appearances  ;  that  is  to 
say,  as  persons  who  had  no  objection  to  the  jolly  hypo- 
crisy which  they  unmasked. 

Not  long  after  the  publication  of  my  book,  I  visited 
two  of  my  schoolfellows,  who  had  gone  to  Cambridge 
and  Oxford.  The  repute  of  it,  unfortunately,  accom- 
panied me,  and  gave  a  foolish  increase  to  my  self-com- 
placency. At  Oxford,  I  was  introduced  to  Kett,^  the 
poetry  professor, — a  good-natured  man  with  a  face  like 
a  Houyhnhnm  (had  Swift  seen  it,  he  would  have 
thought  it  a  pattern  for  humanity).  It  w^as  in  the  gar- 
den of  the  professor's  college  (Trinity) ;  and  he  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  I  should  feel  inspired  then  "  by  the 
muse  of  Warton."^  I  w^as  not  acquainted  with  the 
writings  of  Warton  at  that  time ;  and  perhaps  my 
ignorance  was  fortunate  ;  for  it  was  not  till  long  after 
my  acquaintance  with  them  that  I  saw  farther  into 
their  merits  than  the  very  first  anti-commonplaces 
would  have  discerned,  and  as  I  had  not  acquired  even 
those  at  that  period,  and  my  critical  presumption  was 
on  a  par  with  my  poetical,  I  should  probably  have 
given  the  professor  to  understand  that  I  had  no  esteem 
for  that  kind  of  secondhand  inspiration.  I  w^as  not 
aware  that  my  own  was  precisely  of  the  same  kind, 
and  as  different  from  Warton's  as  poverty  from  ac- 
quirement. 

At  Oxford,  my  love  of  boating  had  nearly  cost  me  my 
life.  I  had  already  had  a  bit  of  a  taste  of  drowning  in 
the  river  Thames,  in  consequence  of  running  a  boat  too 
hastily  on  shore  ;  but  it  was  nothing  to  what  I  experi- 
enced on  this  occasion.  The  schoolfellow  whom  I  was  visit- 


[1  Henry  Kett,  B.D.  (1761-1825),  Fellow  of  Ti-inity  College,  Oxford. 
He  was  afterwards  appointed  to  the  living  of  Charlton  Kings,  Glos. 
He  met  his  death  by  drowning  at  Stanwell.] 

[2  Thomas  Warton  (1728-1790),  Professor  of  Poetry  at  Oxford  and 
Poet  Laureate.  A  collected  edition  of  his  poems  was  published  in 
1777.     He  was  the  author  of  the  admirable  History  of  Poetry.] 

121 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

iiiLC  was  the  friend  whose  family  liv^od  in  Spring  Gardens. 
Wo  had  gone  out  in  a  little  decked  skiff,  and  not  ex- 
pecting disasters  in  the  "  gentle  Isis,"  I  had  fastened 
the  sail-line,  of  which  I  had  the  direction,  in  order  that 
I  might  read  a  volume  which  I  had  with  me,  of  Mr. 
Cumberland's  novel  called  Henry}  My  friend  was  at 
the  helm.  The  wind  grew  a  little  strong  ;  and  we  had 
just  got  into  Iffley  Reach,  when  I  heard  him  exclaim, 
"  Hunt,  we  are  over  ! "  The  next  moment  I  was  under 
the  water,  gulping  it,  and  giving  myself  up  for  lost. 
The  boat  had  a  small  opening  in  the  middle  of  the  deck, 
under  which  I  had  thrust  my  feet ;  this  circumstance 
had  carried  me  over  with  the  boat,  and  the  worst  of  it 
was,  I  found  I  had  got  the  sail -line  round  my  neck. 
My  friend,  who  sat  on  the  deck  itself,  had  been  swept 
oif ,  and  got  comfortably  to  shore,  which  was  at  a  little 
distance. 

My  bodily  sensations  were  not  so  painful  as  I  should 
have  fancied  they  would  have  been.  My  mental  reflec- 
tions were  very  different,  though  one  of  them,  by  a 
singular  meeting  of  extremes,  was  of  a  comic  nature. 
I  thought  that  I  should  never  see  the  sky  again,  that  I 
had  parted  w^ith  all  my  friends,  and  that  I  was  about 
to  contradict  the  proverb  which  said  that  a  man  who 
was  born  to  be  hanged,  would  never  be  drowned  ;  for 
the  sail-line,  in  which  I  felt  entangled,  seemed  destined 
to  perform  for  me  both  the  offices.  On  a  sudden,  I 
found  an  oar  in  my  hand,  and  the  next  minute  I  was 
climbing,  with  assistance,  into  a  wherry,  in  which  there 
sat  two  Oxonians,  one  of  them  helping  me,  and  loudly 
and  laughingly  differing  with  the  other,  who  did  not 
at  all  like  the  rocking  of  the  boat,  and  who  assured  me, 
to  the  manifest  contradiction  of  such  senses  as  I  had 
left,  that  there  was  no  room.  This  gentleman  is  now 
no  more ;  and  I  shall  not  mention  his  name,  because  I 
might  do  injustice  to  the  memory  of  a  brave  man 
struck  with  a  panic.  The  name  of  his  companion,  if  I 
mistake  not,  was  Russell.  I  hope  he  was  related  to  an 
illustrious  person  of  the  same  name,  to  whom  I  have 

['  Richard  Cumberland  (1732-1811),  dramatist.     His  novel  Henry 
was  published  in  1795.] 

122 


YOUTH 

lately  been  indebted  for  what  may  have  been  another 
prolongation  of  my  life.  ^ 

On  returning  to  town,  w^hich  I  did  on  the  top  of  an 
Oxford  coach,  I  was  relating  this  story  to  the  singular 
person  w^ho  then  drove  it  (Bobart,  who  had  been  a 
collegian),  when  a  man  who  was  sitting  behind  sur- 
prised us  with  the  excess  of  his  laughter.  On  asking 
him  the  reason,  he  touched  his  hat,  and  said,  "  Sir,  I'm 
his  footman."  Such  are  the  delicacies  of  the  livery, 
and  the  glorifications  of  their  masters  w^ith  which  they 
entertain  the  kitchen.  . 

This  Bobart  was  a  very  curious  person.  I  havef 
noticed  him  in  the  Indicator,  in  the  article  on?; 
"  Coaches."  He  was  a  descendant  of  a  horticultural' 
family,  who  had  been  keepers  of  the  Physic  Garden  ab' 
Oxford,  and  one  of  whom  palmed  a  rat  upon  thd 
learned  world  for  a  dragon,  by  stretching  out  its  skin 
into  wings.  Tillimant  Bobart  ^  (for  such  was  the  name 
of  our  charioteer)  had  been  at  college  himself,  probably 
as  a  sizer ;  but  having  become  proprietor  of  a  stage- 
coach, he  thought  fit  to  be  his  own  coachman ;  and  he 
received  your  money  and  touched  his  hat  like  the  rest 
of  the  fraternity.  He  had  a  round,  red  face,  with  eyes 
that  stared,  and  showed  the  white  ;  and  having  be- 
come, by  long  practice,  an  excellent  capper  of  verses,  ; 
he  was  accustomed  to  have  bouts  at  that  pastime  w^ith 
the  collegians  whom  he  drove.  It  was  curious  to  hear  i 
him  whistle  and  grunt,  and  urge  on  his  horses  with  the 
other  customary  euphonies  of  his  tribe,  and  then  see 
him  flash  his  eye  round  upon  the  capping  gentleman 
who  sat  behind  him,  and  quote  his  never-failing  line 
out  of  Virgil  or  Horace.  In  the  evening  (for  he  only 
drove  his  coach  half  way  to  London)  he  divided  his 
solace  after  his  labours  between  his  book  and  his 
brandy -and-water ;    but  I  am  afraid  with  a  little  too 

['  Referring  to  the  pension   of  £200  a  year  which  Lord  John 
Russell  obtained  for  Hunt  in  1847.  ] 

[''  Hunt  quotes  these  lines  in  his  Indicator  article : — 

"But  all  our  praises  why  for  Charles  and  Robert? 
Rise,  honest  Mews,  and  sing  the  Classic  Bobart."] 

123 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

'^niuch    of    the    braiuly,    for    his    end   was   not    happy. ^ 

'There  was  eccentricity  in  the  family,  without  anything 

jmuch  to  show  for   it.     The  Bobart  who  invented  the 

5  dragon  chuckled  over  the  secret  for  a  long  time  with  a 

I  satisfaction  that  must  have  cost  him  m.any  falsehoods ; 

I  and  the  first  Bobart  that  is  known  used  to  tag  his  beard 

''  with  silver  on  holidays. 

If  female  society  had  not  been  wanting,  I  should 
have  longed  to  reside  at  an  university  ;  for  I  have 
never  seen  trees,  books,  and  a  garden  to  w^alk  in,  but  I 
saw^  my  natural  home,  provided  there  w^as  no  "  monk- 
ery "  in  it.  I  have  always  thought  it  a  brave  and 
great  saying  of  Mohammed, — "  There  is  no  monkery 
in  Islam." 

"  From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
Which  shew,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world."* 

Were  I  to  visit  the  universities  now,  I  should  explore 
every  corner,  and  reverently  fancy  myself  in  the  pre- 
sence of  every  great  and  good  man  that  has  adorned 
them  ;  but  the  most  important  people  to  young  men 
are  one  another ;  and  I  w^as  content  with  glancing  at 
the  haunts  of  Addison  and  Warton  in  Oxford,  and  at 
those  of  Gray,  Spenser,  and  Milton,  in  Cambridge. 
Oxford,  I  found,  had  greatly  the  advantage  of  Cam- 
bridge in  point  of  country.  You  could  understand 
well  enough  how  poets  could  wander  about  Iffley  and 
Woodstock  ;  but  when  I  visited  Cambridge  the  naked- 
ness of  the  land  w^as  too  plainly  visible  under  a  sheet  of 
snow,  through  which  gutters  of  ditches  ran,  like  ink, 
by  the  side  of  leafless  sallows,  which  resembled  huge 
pincushions  stuck  on  posts.  The  tow^n,  however,  made 
amends ;  and  Cambridge  has  the  advantage  of  Oxford 

'  On  the  information  of  Mi".  George  Hooper,  who  kindly  volun- 
teered the  communication  as  a  reader  of  the  Indicator,  and  sent  me 
a  very  curious  letter  on  the  subject ;  w^ith  details,  however,  that 
were  rather  of  private  than  of  public  interest. 

[2  ' « From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes. 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire." 

Love's  Labour  Lost,  iv.  3.] 
124 


YOUTH 

in  a  remarkable  degree,  as  far  as  regards  eminent'l 
names.  England's  two  greatest  philosophers,  Bacon  and 
Newton,  and  (according  to  Tyrwhitt)  three  out  of  its; 
four  great  poets,  were  bred  there,  besides  double  thei 
number  of  minor  celebrities.  Oxford  even  did  noi^ 
always  know  "  the  good  the  gods  provided."  It  repu-' 
diated  Locke  ;  alienated  Gibbon  ;  and  had  nothing  but 
angry  sullenness  and  hard  expulsion  to  answer  to  the 
inquiries  which  its  very  ordinances  encouraged  in  the 
sincere  and  loving  spirit  of  Shelley.^ 

Yet  they  are  divine  places,  both  ;  full  of  grace,  and 
beauty,  and  scholarship ;  of  reverend  antiquity,  and 
ever-young  nature  and  hope.  Their  faults,  if  of  worldli- 
ness  in  some,  are  those  of  time  and  of  conscience  in 
more,  and  if  the  more  pertinacious  on  those  accounts, 
will  merge  into  a  like  conservative  firmness,  when  still 
nobler  developments  are  in  their  keeping.  So  at  least 
I  hope  ;  and  so  may  the  Fates  have  ordained  ;  keeping 
their  gowns  among  them  as  a  symbol  that  learning  is, 
indeed,  something  which  ever  learns ;  and  instructing 
them  to  teach  love,  and  charity,  and  inquiry,  with  the 
same  accomplished  authority  as  that  with  w^hich  they 
have  taught  assent. 

My  book  was  unfortunately  successful  everywhere, 
particularly  in  the  metropolis.  The  critics  were 
extremely  kind  ;  and,  as  it  was  unusual  at  that  time 
to  publish  at  so  early  a  period  of  life,  my  age  made  me 
a  kind  of  "  Young  Roscius "  in  authorship.  I  was 
introduced  to  literati,  and  shown  about  among  parties. 
My  father  took  me  to  see  Dr.  Raine,  Master  of  the 
Charter-House.^  The  doctor,  who  was  very  kind  and 
pleasant,  but  who  probably  drew  none  of  our  deduc- 
tions in  favour  of  the  young  writer's  abilities,  warned 
me  against  the  perils  of  authorship  ;  adding,  as  a  final 

[*  Oxford  commemorated  the  centenary  of  Shelley's  bh-th  (1892)  by  | 
the  erection  of  a  beautiful  memorial,  the  work  of  Mr.  E.  Onslow  i 
Ford,  at  University  College.  A  valuable  edition  of  Adonais  wasj 
issued  by  the  Oxford  University  Press  in  1891,  with  notes,  etc.,  byt 
Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti.] 

[2  Matthew  Raine,  D.D.  (1760  1810),  Fellow  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  was  appointed  as  Master  of  the  Charter-House  School 
in  1791,  and  in  1809  he  became  preacher  of  Gray's  Inn.] 

125 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

(lohortntive,  tliat  "  the  slielves  were  full."  It  was  not 
till  we  came  away  that  I  thought  of  an  answer,  which 
I  conceived  would  have  "  anniliilated"  him.  "Then, 
sir "  (I  should  have  said),  "  we  will  make  another." 
Not  having  heen  in  time  with  this  repartee,  I  felt  all 
that  anguish  of  undeserved  and  unnecessary  defeat, 
which  has  been  so  pleasantly  described  in  the  Miseries 
of  Huma7i  Life.^  This,  thought  I,  would  have  been  an 
answer  befitting  a  poet,  and  calculated  to  make  a  figure 
in  biography. 

A  mortification  that  I  encountered  at  a  house  in 
Cavendish  Square  affected  me  less,  though  it  surprised 
me  a  good  deal  more.  I  had  been  held  up,  as  usual,  to 
the  example  of  the  young  gentlemen  and  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  young  ladies,  when,  in  the  course  of  the 
dessert,  one  of  mine  host's  daughters,  a  girl  of 
exuberant  spirits,  and  not  of  the  austerest  breeding, 
came  up  to  me,  and,  as  if  she  had  discovered  that  I  was 
not  so  young  as  I  pretended  to  be,  exclaimed,  "  What  a 
beard  you  have  got ! "  at  the  same  time  con^^ncing  her- 
self of  the  truth  of  her  discovery  by  taking  hold  of  it ! 
Had  I  been  a  year  or  two  older,  I  should  have  taken  my 
revenge.  As  it  vras,  I  know^  not  how  I  behaved,  but 
the  next  morning  I  hastened  to  have  a  beard  no 
longer. 

I  was  now  a  man,  and  resolved  not  to  be  out  of 
countenance  next  time.  Not  long  afterwards,  my 
grandfather,  sensible  of  the  new  fame  in  his  family, 
but  probably  alarmed  at  the  fruitless  consequences 
to  w^hich  it  might  lead,  sent  me  word,  that  if  I  would 
come  to  Philadelphia,  "  he  would  make  a  man  of  me." 
I  sent  word,  in  return,  that  "  men  grew  in  England 
as  well  as  America  :"  an  answer  which  repaid  me  for 
the  loss  of  my  repartee  at  Dr.  Raine's. 

I  had  got  a  dislike  of  my  grandfather  for  reasons  in 

^  ['  The  Miseries  of  Human  Life ;  or  tlie  groans  of  Samuel 
'^Sensitive  and  Timothy  Testy  was  published  anonymously  in 
•  1806-7,  and  was  several  times  reprinted.  It  was  the  work  of  the 
Rev.  James  Beresford  (1764-1840),  a  Fellow  of  Merton  College, 
Oxford,  who  was  also  the  author  of  many  other  books,  but  The 
Miseries  of  Huma7i  Life,  owing  to  its  fund  of  genuine  humour,  is 
the  only  one  that  brought  him  fame.] 

126 


YOUTH 

which  his  only  surviving  daughter  tells  me  I  was  mis- 
taken ;  and  partly  on  a  similar  account,  I  equally  dis- 
liked his  friend  Dr.  Franklin,  author  of  Poor  Richards 
Almanack  -^  a  heap,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  of  "  scoundrel 
maxims."^  I  think  I  now  appreciate  Dr.  Franklin  as  I 
ought;  but  although  I  can  see  the  utihty  of  such 
publications  as  his  Almanack  for  a  rising  commercial 
state,  and  hold  it  useful  as  a  memorandum  to  uncal- 
culating  persons  like  myself,  who  happen  to  live  in  an 
old  one,  I  think  there  is  no  necessity  for  it  in  commercial 
nations  long  established,  and  that  it  has  no  business  in 
others,  who  do  not  found  their  happiness  in  that  sort  of 
power.  Franklin,  wdth  all  his  abilities,  is  but  at  the 
head  of  those  who  think  that  man  Kves  "by  bread 
alone." 

The  respect  which,  in  matters  of  reHgion,  I  felt  for 
the  "  spirit  which  giveth  life,"  in  preference  to  the  "  letter 
which  killeth,"  received  a  curious  corroboration  from  a 
circumstance  which  I  witnessed  on  board  a  Margate  hoy. 
Having  nothing  to  do,  after  the  pubhcation  of  my  poor 
volume,  but  to  read  and  to  look  about  me,  a  friend  pro- 
posed an  excursion  to  Brighton,  We  were  to  go  first  to 
Margate,  and  then  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  by  the  sea- 
side, for  the  benefit  of  the  air. 

We  took  places  accordingly  in  the  first  hoy  that  was 

[*  Benjamin  Franklin  (170&-1790)  published  Ms  Poor  RichardOs 
Almanack  in  17.32.  It  attained  great  success,  and  is  said  to  have 
circulated  to  the  number  of  10,000  copies  in  one  year.] 

^  Thomson's  phrase,  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence,  speaking  of  a 
miserly  money-getter : — 

"  '  A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got : ' 

Firm  to  this  scoundrel  maxim  keepeth  he, 

Ne  of  its  rigour  will  he  bate  a  jot. 

Till  it  hath  quench'd  his  fire  and  banished  his  pot." 

The  reader  will  not  imagine  that  I  suppose  all  money-makers  to  be 
of  this  description.  Very  gallant  spirits  are  to  be  founi  among  them, 
who  only  take  to  this  mode  of  activity  for  want  of  a  better,  and  are 
as  generous  in  disbiirsing  as  they  are  vigorous  in  acquiring.  You 
may  always  know  the  common  run,  as  in  other  instances,  by  the 
soreness  with  which  they  feel  attacks  on  the  body  corporate. 

For  the  assertion  that  Dr.  Franklin  cut  oflr  his  son  with  a  shilling, 
my  only  authority  is  family  tradition.  It  is  observable,  however, 
that  the  friendliest  of  his  biographers  are  not  only  forc€^  to  admit 
that  he  seemed  a  little  too  fond  of  money,  but  notice  the  mysterious 
secrecy  in  which  his  family  history  is  involved. 

127 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

about  to  sail,  and  speedily  found  ourselves  seated  and 
moving.  We  thought  the  passengers  a  singularly  staid 
set  of  people  for  holiday-makers,  and  could  not  account 
for  it.  The  impression  by  degrees  grew  so  strong,  that 
we  resolved  to  inquire  into  the  reason  ;  and  it  was  with 
no  very  agreeable  feelings,  that  we  found  ourselves 
fixed  for  the  day  on  board  what  was  called  the 
"  Methodist  hoy."  The  vessel,  it  seems,  was  under  the 
particular  patronage  of  the  sect  of  that  denomination  ; 
and  it  professed  to  sail  "  by  Divine  Providence." 

Dinner  brought  a  little  more  hilarity  into  the  faces  of 
these  children  of  heaven.  One  innocently  proposed  a 
game  at  riddles  ;  another  entertained  a  circle  of  hearers 
by  a  question  in  arithmetic  ;  a  third  (or  the  same  person, 
if  I  remember — a  very  dreary  gentleman)  raised  his 
voice  into  some  remarks  on  "  atheists  and  deists,"  glanc- 
ing, while  he  did  it,  at  the  small  knot  of  the  uninitiated 
who  had  got  together  in  self-defence ;  on  which  a  fourth 
gave  out  a  hymn  of  Dr.  Watts's,  w^hich  says  that — 

' '  Religion  never  w^as  designed 
To  make  our  pleasures  less." 

It  was  sung,  I  must  say,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  impartial 
misery,  as  if  on  purpose  to  contradict  the  opinion. 

Thus  passed  the  hours,  between  formality,  and  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  and  psalm-singing,  and  melancholy 
attempts  at  a  little  mirth,  till  night  came  on  ;  when 
our  godly  friends  vanished  below  into  their  berths. 
The  wind  was  against  us  ;  we  beat  out  to  sea,  and  had 
a  taste  of  some  cold  autumnal  weather.  Such  of  us  as 
were  not  prepared  for  this,  adjusted  ourselves  as  well 
as  Mve  could  to  the  occasion,  or  paced  about  the  deck  to 
warm  ourselves,  not  a  little  amused  with  the  small 
crew  of  sailors  belonging  to  the  vessel,  who  sat  together 
singing  songs  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  in  order  that  the 
psalm-singers  below  might  not  hear  them. 

During  one  of  these  pacings  about  the  deck,  my  foot 
came  in  contact  with  a  large  bundle  which  lay  as  much 
out  of  the  way  as  possible,  but  which  I  had  approached 
unawares.  On  stooping  to  see  what  it  was,  I  found  it 
was  a  woman.     She  was  sleeping,  and  her  clothes  were 

128 


YOUTH 

cold  and  damp.  As  the  captain  could  do  nothing  for 
her,  except  refer  me  to  the  "  gentlefolks  "  below,  in  case;, 
any  room  could  be  made  for  her  in  their  dormitory,  Ii 
repaired  below  accordingly ;  and  with  something  of  a ' 
malicious  benevolence,  persisted  in  waking  every  sleeper 
in  succession,  and  stating  the  woman's  case.  Not  a 
soul  w^ould  stir.  They  had  paid  for  their  places  :  the 
woman  should  have  done  the  same  ;  and  so  they  left 
her  to  the  care  of  the  "  Providence  "  under  which  they 
sailed.  I  do  not  wish  to  insinuate  by  this  story  that 
many  excellent  people  have  not  been  Methodists.  All  I 
mean  to  say  is,  that  here  was  a  whole  Margate  hoy  full 
of  them ;  that  they  had  feathered  their  nest  well 
below  ;  that  the  night  was  trying ;  that  to  a  female  it 
might  be  dangerous  ;  and  that  not  one  of  them,  never- 
theless, would  stir  to  make  room  for  her. 

As  Methodism  is  a  fact  of  the  past  and  of  the  present, 
I  trust  it  may  have  had  its  uses.  The  degrees  of  it  are 
various,  from  the  blackest  hue  of  what  is  called 
Calvinistic  Methodism  to  colours  little  distinguishable 
from  the  mildest  and  pleasantest  of  conventional 
orthodoxy.  Accidents  of  birth,  breeding,  brain,  heart, 
and  temperament  make  worlds  of  difference  in  this 
respect,  as  in  all  others.  But  where  the  paramount 
doctrine  of  a  sect,  whatever  it  may  profess  to  include, 
is  Self-preservation,  and  where  this  paramount  doctrine, 
as  it  needs  must  when  actually  paramount,  blunts  in 
very  self-defence  the  greatest  final  sympathies  with 
one's  fellow-creatures,  the  transition  of  ideas  is  easy 
from  unfeelingness  in  a  future  state  to  unf eelingness  in 
the  present ;  and  it  becomes  a  very  little  thing  indeed 
to  let  a  woman  lie  out  in  the  cold  all  night,  while 
saints  are  snoozing  away  in  comfort. 

My  companion  and  I,  much  amused,  and  not  a  little 
indignant,  took  our  way  from  Ramsgate  along  the 
coast,  turning  cottages  into  inns  as  our  hunger  com- 
pelled us,  and  sleeping  at  night  the  moment  we  laid  our 
heads  on  our  pillows. 

The  length  of  this  journey,  which  did  us  good,  we 
reckoned  to  be  a  hundred  and  twelve  miles  ;  and  we  did 
it  in  four  days,  which  was  not  bad  walking.     But  my 

129  K 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

brother  Robert  once  went  a  hundred  miles  in  two.  He 
also,  when  a  lad,  kept  up  at  a  kind  of  trotting  pace 
with  a  friend's  horse  all  the  way  from  Finchley  to 
Pimlico.     His  limbs  were  admirably  well  set. 

The  friend  who  was  my  companion  in  this  journey 
had  not  been  long  known  to  me  ;  but  he  was  full  of 
good  qualities.  He  died  a  few  years  afterwards  in 
France,  where  he  unhappily  found  himself  among  his 
countrymen,  whom  Bonaparte  so  iniquitously  detained 
at  the  commencement  of  the  second  war.  He  was 
brother  of  my  old  friend  Henry  Robertson,  treasurer 
of  Covent  Garden  theatre,  in  whose  company  and  that  ^ 

of  Vincent  Novello,  Charles  Cowden  Clarke,  and  other 
gifted  and  estimable  men,  I  have  enjoyed  some  of  the 
most  harmonious  evenings  of  my  life,  in  every  sense 
of  the  word. 

Let  me  revert  to  a  pleasanter  recollection.  The  com- 
panion of  my  journey  to  Brighton,  and  another  brother 
of  his,  who  was  afterguards  in  the  Commissariat  (all 
the  brothers,  alas  !  are  no^"  dead),  set  up  a  little  club  to 
which  I  belonged,  called  the  "  Elders,"  from  our  regard 
for  the  wine  of  that  name,  with  hot  goblets  of  w^hich 
we  finished  the  evening.  It  was  not  the  wine  so  called 
which  you  buy  in  the  shops,  and  which  is  a  mixture  of 
brandy  and  verjuice,  but  the  vintage  of  the  genuine 
berry,  which  is  admired  w^ierever  it  is  kno^vn,  and 
which  the  ancients  unquestionably  symbolized  under 
the  mystery  of  the  Bearded  Bacchus,  the  senior  god  of 
(that  name — 
I  "Brother  of  Bacchus,  elder  born,"  '■ 

|rhe  great  Boerhaave  held  the  tree  in  such  pleasant  re- 
ference for  the  multitude  of  its  virtues,  that  he  is  said 
|to  have  taken  off  his  hat  whenever  he  passed  it. 
'  Be  this  as  it  may,  so  happily  it  sent  us  to  our  beds, 
with  such  an  extraordinary  twofold  inspiration  of 
Bacchus  and  Somnus,  that,  falling  to  sleep,  we  would 
dream  half  an  hour  after  of  the  last  jest,  and  wake  up 
again  in  laughter. 

['  Hermann  Boerhaave  (1668-1738),  the  celebrated  Dutch  phy- 
sician.] 

130 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 


CHAPTER  VI 

PLAYGOING  AND  VOLUNTEERS 

[1802-1872] 

A  KNOCK  at  the  doors  of  all  England  awoke  us  up 
from  our  dreams.  It  was  Bonaparte,  threatening 
to  come  among  us,  and  bidding  us  put  down  "  that 
glass."  The  "  Elders,"  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  were  moved  to  say  him  nay,  and  to  drink,  and 
drill  themselves,  to  his  confusion. 

I  must  own  that  I  never  had  the  slightest  belief  in 
this  coming  of  Bonaparte.  It  did,  I  allow,  sometimes 
appear  to  me  not  absolutely  impossible  ;  and  very 
strange  it  was  to  think  that  some  fine  morning  I  might 
actually  find  myself  face  to  face  with  a  parcel  of  French- 
men in  Kent  or  Sussex,  instead  of  playing  at  soldiers 
in  Piccadilly.  But  I  did  not  believe  in  his  coming  :  first, 
because  I  thought  he  had  far  wiser  things  to  attend  to  ; 
secondly,  because  he  made  such  an  ostentatious  show  of 
it ;  and  thirdly,  because  I  felt  that  whatever  might  be 
our  party  politics,  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things 
English  to  allow  it.  Nobody,  I  thought,  could  believe 
it  possible,  who  did  but  see  and  hear  the  fine,  unaffected, 
manly  young  fellows  that  composed  our  own  regiment 
of  volunteers,  the  St.  James's,  and  whose  counterparts 
had  arisen  in  swarms  all  over  the  country.  It  was  too 
great  a  jest.  And  with  all  due  respect  for  French 
valour,  I  think  so  to  this  day. 

The  case  was  not  the  same  as  in  the  time  of  the  Nor- 
mans. The  Normans  were  a  more  advanced  people  than 
the  Saxons  ;  they  possessed  a  familiar  and  family  inter- 
est among  us  ;  and  they  had  even  a  right  to  the  throne. 
But  in  the  year  1802,  the  French  and  English  had  for 
centuries  been  utterly  distinct  as  well  as  rival  nations  ; 
the   latter   had  twice   beaten  the   French   on   French 

131 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

ground,  and  under  the  greatest  disadvantages :  how 
nnu'li  less  likely  were  they  to  be  beaten  on  their  own, 
under  every  circumstance  of  exasperation  ?  They  were 
an  abler-bodied  nation  than  the  French  ;  they  had  been 
bred  up,  however  erroneously,  in  a  contempt  for  them, 
which  (in  a  military  point  of  view),  was  salutary  when 
it  was  not  careless  ;  and,  in  fine,  here  were  all  these 
volunteers,  as  well  as  troops  of  the  line,  taking  the 
threat  with  an  ease  too  great  even  to  laugh  at  it,  but 
at  the  same  time  sedulously  attending  to  their  drills, 
and  manifestly  resolved,  if  the  struggle  came,  to  make 
a  personal  business  of  it,  and  see  which  of  the  two 
nations  had  the  greatest  pluck. 

The  volunteers  would  not  even  take  the  trouble  of 
patronizing  a  journal  that  was  set  up  to  record  their 
movements  and  to  flatter  their  self-respect.  A  word  of 
praise  from  the  king,  from  the  commander-in-chief,  or 
the  colonel  of  the  regiment,  was  w^ell  enough  ;  it  was 
all  in  the  way  of  business  ;  but  why  be  told  what  they 
knew,  or  be  encouraged  when  they  did  not  require  it  ? 
Wags  used  to  say  of  the  journal  in  question,  which  was 
called  the  Volunteer,  that  it  printed  only  one  number, 
sold  only  one  copy,  and  that  this  copy  had  been  pur- 
chased by  a  volunteer  drummer-boy.  The  boy,  seeing 
the  paper  set  out  for  sale,  exclaimed,  "  The  Volunteer  ! 
why,  I'm  a  volunteer  ! "  and  so  he  bought  that  solitary 
image  of  himself.  The  boy  was  willing  to  be  told  that 
he  was  doing  something  more  than  playing  at  soldiers  ; 
but  what  was  this  to  the  men  ? 

This  indifferent  kind  of  self-respect  and  contentment 
did  not  hinder  the  volunteers,  however,  from  having  a 
good  deal  of  pleasant  banter  of  one  another  among 
themselves,  or  from  feeling  that  there  was  something 
now  and  then  among  them  ridiculous  in  respect  to 
appearances.  A  gallant  officer  in  our  regiment,  who 
was  much  respected,  went  among  us  by  the  name  of 
Lieutenant  Molly,  on  account  of  the  delicacy  of  his 
complexion.  Another,  who  was  a  strict  disciplinarian, 
and  had  otherwise  a  spirit  of  love  for  the  profession,  as 
though  he  had  been  a  born  soldier,  was  not  spared 
allusions  to  his  balls   of  perfumery.     Our  major  (now 

132 


PLAYGOING  AND   VOLUNTEERS 

no  more)  was  an  undertaker  in  Piccadilly,  of  the  name 
of  Downs,  very  fat  and  jovial,  yet  active  withal,  and 
a  good  soldier.  He  had  one  of  those  lively,  juvenile 
faces  that  are  sometimes  observed  in  people  of  a  certain 
sleek  kind  of  corpulency.  This  ample  field-officer  was 
"  cut  and  come  again  "  for  jokes  of  all  sorts.  Nor  was 
the  colonel  himself  spared,  though  he  was  a  highly 
respectable  nobleman,  and  nephew  to  an  actual  troop- 
of-the-line  conqueror,  the  victor  of  Montreal.  But  this 
requires  a  paragraph  or  two  to  itself. 

We  had  been  a  regiment  for  some  time  without  a 
colonel.  The  colonel  was  always  about  to  be  declared, 
but  declared  he  was  not ;  and  meantime  we  mustered 
about  a  thousand  strong,  and  were  much  amazed,  and, 
perhaps,  a  little  indignant.  At  length  the  moment 
arrived — the  colonel  was  named ;  he  was  to  be  intro- 
duced to  us  ;  and  that  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  our 
dignity,  he  was  a  lord,  and  a  friend  of  the  minister,  and 
nephew  to  the  victor  aforesaid. 

Our  parade  was  the  court-yard  of  Burlington  House. 
The  whole  regiment  attended.  We  occupied  three  sides 
of  the  ground.  In  front  of  us  were  the  great  gates, 
longing  to  be  opened.  Suddenly  the  word  is  given, 
"  My  lord  is  at  hand  ! "  Open  burst  the  gates — up 
strikes  the  music.  "  Present  arms  ! "  vociferates  the 
major. 

In  dashes  his  lordship,  and  is  pitched  right  over  his 
horse's  head  to  the  ground. 

It  was  the  most  unfortunate  anticlimax  that  could 
have  happened.  Skill,  grace,  vigour,  address,  example, 
ascendancy,  mastery,  victory,  all  were  in  a  manner  to 
have  been  presented  to  us  in  the  heroical  person  of  the 
noble  colonel ;  and  here  they  were  prostrated  at  our 
feet — ejected — cast  out — humiliated — ground  to  the 
earth — subjected  (for  his  merciful  construction)  to  the 
least  fellow-soldier  that  stood  among  us  upright  on  his 
feet. 

The  construction,  however,  was  accorded.  Every- 
body felt  indeed,  that  the  greatest  of  men  might  have 
been  subjected  to  the  accident.  It  w^as  the  horse,  not 
he,  that  was  in  fault — it  was  the  music — the  ringing  of 

133 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

the  arms,  etc.  His  spirit  had  led  him  to  bring  with  him 
too  liery  a  charger.  Bucephahis  miglit  have  thrown 
Alexander  at  such  a  moment.  A  molehill  threw 
William  the  Third.  A  man  might  conquer  Bona- 
parte, and  yet  be  thrown  from  his  horse.  And  the 
conclusion  was  singularly  borne  out  in  another  quar- 
Jter ;  for  no  conqueror,  I  believe,  whose  equitation 
■,is  ascertained,  ever  combined  more  numerous  victories 
with  a  greater  number  of  falls  from  his  saddle  than 
his  lordship's  illustrious  friend,  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. 

During  our  field-days,  which  sometimes  took  place  in 
the  neighbourhood  celebrated  by  Foote  in  his  Mayor  of 
Garrat,^  it  was  impossible  for  those  who  were  acquainted 
with  his  w^ritings  not  to  think  of  his  city-trained  bands 
and  their  dreadful  "  marchings  and  counter-marchings 
from  Acton  to  Ealing,  and  from  Eahng  back  again  to 
Acton."  We  were  not  "  all  robbed  and  murdered," 
however,  as  we  returned  home,  "  by  a  single  footpad." 
We  returned,  not  by  the  Ealing  stage,  but  in  right  war- 
like style,  marching  and  dusty.  We  had  even,  one  day, 
a  small  taste  of  the  will  and  appetite  of  campaigning. 
Some  of  us,  after  a  sham-fight,  w^ere  hastening  towards 
Acton,  in  a  very  rage  of  hunger  and  thirst,  when  we 
discerned  coming  towards  us  a  baker  with  a  basket  full 
of  loaves.  To  observe  the  man,  to  see  his  loaves 
scattered  on  the  ground,  to  find  ourselves  each  with  one 
of  them  under  his  arm,  tearing  the  crumb  out,  and 
pushing  on  for  the  village,  heedless  of  the  cries  of  the 
pursuing  baker,  was  (in  the  language  of  the  novelists) 
the  work  of  a  moment.  Next  moment  we  found  our- 
selves standing  in  the  cellar  of  an  Acton  alehouse,  with 
the  spigots  torn  out  of  the  barrels,  and  everybody  help- 
ing himself  as  he  could.  The  baker  and  the  beerman 
were  paid,  but  not  till  we  chose  to  attend  to  them  ;  and 
I  fully  comprehended,  even  from  this  small  specimen 
of  the  will  and  pleasure  of  soldiers,  what  savages  they 
could  become  on  graver  occasions. 

[1  Samuel  Foote  (1720-1777).  His  Mayor  of  Garratt,  a  Comedy 
in  two  acts,  first  printed  in  1764,  is  a  dramatisation  of  the  cele- 
brated mock  election  of  the  mayor  at  Garratt,  Wandsworth.] 

134 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

In  this  St.  James's  regiment  of  volunteers  w^ere  three 
persons  whom  I  looked  on  with  great  interest,  for  they 
were  actors.  They  were  Farley,^  Emery, ^  and  De  Camp, 
all  well-known  performers  at  the  time.  The  first  was 
a  celebrated  melodramatic  actor,  remarkable  for  com- 
bining a  short  sturdy  person  with  energetic  activity  ; 
for  which  reason,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  in  spite  of  his 
shortness  and  his  sturdiness,  he  had  got  into  the  light 
infantry  company,  where  I  think  I  have  had  the  plea- 
sure of  standing  both  w^ith  him  and  Mr.  De  Camp. 
With  De  Camp  certainly.  The  latter  was  brother  of 
Miss  De  Camp,  afterw^ards  Mrs.  Charles  Kemble,  an 
admirable  actress  in  the  same  line  as  Farley,  and  in 
such  characters  as  Beatrice  and  I/acy  Lockitt.  She  had 
a  beautiful  figure,  fine  large  dark  eyes,  and  elevated 
features,  fuller  of  spirit  than  softness,  but  still  capable  of 
expressing  great  tenderness.  Her  brother  was  nobody  in 
comparison  with  her,  though  he  was  clever  in  his  way, 
and  more  handsome.  But  it  w^as  a  sort  of  effeminate 
beauty,  which  made  him  look  as  if  he  ought  to  have 
been  the  sister,  and  she  the  brother.  It  was  said  of 
him,  in  a  comprehensive  bit  of  alliteration,  that  he 
"failed  in  fops,  but  there  was  fire  in  his  footmen." 

The  third  of  these  histrionic  patriots,  Mr.  Emery, 
was  one  of  the  best  actors  of  his  kind  the  stage  ever 
saw.  He  excelled,  not  only  in  Yorkshiremen,  and 
other  rustical  comic  characters,  but  in  parts  of  homely 
tragedy,  such  as  criminals  of  the  lower  order ;  whose 
conscious  guilt  he  exhibited  w^ith  such  a  lively,  truthful 
mixture  of  clownishness  in  the  mode  and  intensity  in 
the  feeling,  as  made  a  startling  and  terrible  picture  of 
the  secret  passions  to  w^hich  all  classes  of  men  are 
liable. 

Emery  was  also  an  amateur  painter — of  landscape, 
I  believe,  and  of  no  mean  repute.  He  was  a  man  of 
a  middle  height,  rather  tall  perhaps  than  otherwise  and 
with  quiet,  respectable  manners,  but  with  something 
of  what  is  called  a  pudding  face,  and  an  appearance 
on  the  whole  not  unlike  a  gentleman  farmer.     You 

I'  Charles  Farley  (1771-1859).]  [^  John  Emery  (1777-1822).] 

135 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

would  not  have  supposed  there  was  so  much  emotion 
in  him,  thougli  he  had  purpose,  too,  in  his  look,  and 
he  died  early. 

I  have  been  tempted  to  dilate  somewhat  on  these 
gentlemen ;  for  though  I  made  no  acquaintance  with 
them  privately,  I  was  now  beginning  to  look  with 
peculiar  interest  on  the  stage,  to  which  I  had  already 
wished  to  be  a  contributor,  and  of  which  I  was  then 
becoming  a  critic.  I  had  written  a  tragedy,  a  comedy, 
and  a  farce  ;  and  my  Spring  Garden  friends  had  given 
me  an  introduction  to  their  acquaintance,  Mr.  Kelly,' 
of  the  Opera  House,  with  a  view  to  having  the  farce 
brought  out  by  some  manager  with  whom  he  was 
intimate.  I  remember  lighting  upon  him  at  the  door 
of  his  music-shop  or  saloon,  at  the  corner  of  the  lane 
in  Pall  Mall,  where  the  Arcade  now^  begins,  and  giving 
him  my  letter  of  introduction  and  my  farce  at  once. 
He  had  a  quick,  snappish,  but  not  ill-natured  voice, 
and  a  flushed,  handsome,  and  good-humoured  face, 
with  the  hair  about  his  ears.  The  look  was  a  little 
rakish  or  so,  but  very  agreeable. 

Mr.  Kelly  was  extremely  courteous  to  me  ;  but  what 
he  said  of  the  farce,  or  did  with  it,  I  utterly  forget. 
Himself  I  shall  never  forget ;  for  as  he  was  the  first 
actor  I  ever  beheld  anywhere,  so  he  was  one  of  the 
first  whom  I  saw  on  the  stage.  Actor,  indeed,  he  was 
none,  except  inasmuch  as  he  was  an  acting  singer, 
and  not  destitute  of  a  certain  spirit  in  everything  he 
did.  Neither  had  he  any  particular  power  as  a  singer, 
or  even  a  voice.  He  said  it  broke  down  while  he  was 
studying  in  Italy  ;  where,  indeed,  he  had  sung  with 
applause.  The  little  snappish  tones  I  spoke  of  were 
very  manifest  on  the  stage  :  he  had  short  arms,  as  if 
to  match  them,  and  a  hasty  step  :  and  yet,  notwith- 
standing these  drawbacks,  he  was  heard  with  pleasure, 
for  he  had  taste  and  feeling.  He  was  a  delicate  com- 
poser, as  the  music  in  Blue  Beard  evinces  ;  and  he 
selected  so  happily  from  other  composers  as  to  give 
rise  to  his  friend  Sheridan's  banter,  that  he  M'^as   an 

[^  Michael  Kelly  (1762-1826).      His  "Reminiscences"  is  one  of  the 
most  amusing  records  of  theatrical  history  that  we  possess.] 

136 


PLAYGOING  AND   VOLUNTEERS 

*'  importer  of  music  and  composer  of  wines "  (for  he 
once  took  to  being  a  wine-merchant).  While  in  Ire- 
land, during  the  early  part  of  his  career,  he  adapted 
a  charming  air  of  Martini's  to  English  words,  which, 
under  the  title  of  "  Oh,  thou  wert  born  to  please  me," 
he  sang  with  Mrs.  Crouch  ^  to  so  much  effect,  that  not 
only  was  it  always  called  for  three  times,  but  no  play 
was  suffered  to  be  performed  without  it.  It  should  be 
added,  that  Mrs.  Crouch  was  a  lovely  woman,  as  well 
as  a  beautiful  singer,  and  that  the  two  performers 
were  in  love.  I  have  heard  them  sing  it  myself,  and 
do  not  wonder  at  the  impression  it  made  on  the  sus- 
ceptible hearts  of  the  Irish.  Twenty  years  afterwards, 
when  Mrs.  Crouch  was  no  more,  and  while  Kelly  was 
singing  a  duet  in  the  same  country  with  Madame 
Catalani,  a  man  in  the  gallery  cried  out,  "  Mr.  Kelly, 
will  you  be  good  enough  to  favour  us  with  '  Oh,  thou 
wert  born  to  please  me?'"  The  audience  laughed; 
but  the  call  went  to  the  heart  of  the  singer,  and  prob- 
ably came  from  that  of  the  honest  fellow  who  made  it. 
The  man  may  have  gone  to  the  play  in  his  youth,  with 
somebody  whom  he  loved  by  his  side,  and  heard  two 
lovers,  as  happy  as  himself,  sing  what  he  now  wished 
to  hear  again. 

Madame  Catalani  ^  was  also  one  of  the  singers  I  first 
remember.  I  first  heard  her  at  an  oratorio,  where, 
happening  to  sit  in  a  box  right  opposite  to  where  she 
stood,  the  leaping  forth  of  her  amazingly  powerful 
voice  absolutely  startled  me.  Women's  voices  on  the 
stage  are  apt  to  rise  above  all  others,  but  Catalani's 
seemed  to  delight  in  trying  its  strength  with  choruses 
and  orchestras  ;  and  the  louder  they  became,  the  higher 
and  more  victorious  she  ascended.  In  fact,  I  believe 
she  is  known  to  have  provoked  and  enjoyed  this  sort 
of  contest.  I  suspect,  however,  that  I  did  not  hear 
her  when  she  was  at  her  best  or  sweetest.  My  re- 
collection  is,    that   with   a    great    deal    of    taste   and 

fi  Mrs.  Crouch,  7iee  Phillips,  made  her  first  appearance  at  Drury 
Lane  in  1781 ;  she  died  in  1806.] 

[-  Angelica  Catalani  (1782-1849),  an  Italian  vocalist  of  great  re- 
nown.] 

187 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

brilliancy,  there  was  more  force  than  feeling.  She 
was  a  Iloman,  with  the  regular  Italian  antelope  face 
(if  I  may  so  call  it)  ;  large  eyes,  with  a  sensitive 
elegant  nose,  and  lively  expression. 

Mrs.  Billington^  also  appeared  to  me  to  have  more 
brilliancy  of  execution  than  depth  of  feeling.  She  was 
a  fat  beauty,  with  regular  features,  and  may  be  seen 
drawn  to  the  life  in  a  portrait  in  Mr.  Hogarth's  ^ 
Memoirs  of  the  Musical  Di-ama,  where  she  is  frightfully 
dressed  in  a  cropped  head  of  hair,  and  a  waist  tucked 
under  her  arms — the  fashion  of  the  day. 

Not  so  Grassini,  a  large  but  perfectly  well-made  as 
well  as  lovely  woman,  with  black  hair  and  eyes,  and 
her  countenance  as  full  of  feeling  as  her  divine  contralto 
voice.  Largeness,  or  what  is  called  fineness  of  person, 
was  natural  to  her,  and  did  not  hinder  her  from  having 
a  truly  feminine  appearance.  She  was  an  actress  as 
well  as  singer.  She  acted  Proserpina  in  Winter's 
beautiful  opera,  and  might  have  remained  in  the  re- 
collection of  any  one  who  heard  and  beheld  her,  as  an 
image  of  the  goddess  she  represented.  My  friend, 
Vincent  Novello,^  saw^  the  composer  when  the  first 
performance  of  the  piece  was  over,  stoop  down  (he 
w^as  a  very  tall  man)  and  kiss  Mrs.  Billington's  hand 
for  her  singing  in  the  character  of  Ceres,  I  wonder 
he  did  not  take  Grassini  in  his  arms.  She  must  have 
had  a  fine  soul,  and  would  have  known  how  to  pardon 
him.  But  perhaps  he  did. 
'With    Billington    used    to    perform    Braham,    from 

['  Elizabeth  Wiecschell  (1769-1818)  was  born  in  London  of  German 
parents.  Her  first  husband  was  John  Billington  of  the  Drury  Lane 
orchestra.  She  afterwards  married  M.  de  Fellesent.  Her  career 
as  vocalist  and  actress  began  at  the  early  age  of  seven,  and  was  con- 
jjtinued  with  great  success  almost  to  the  end  of  her  life.] 
t  [^  George  Hogarth  (1783-1870),  musical  critic  and  the  author  of 
numerous  works  on  musical  subjects.  Memoirs  of  tlie  Musical 
y)ratna  appeared  in  1838.  His  daughter  became  the  wife  of  Charles 
J)ickens.] 

%  [*  Vincenzo  Novello  (1781-1861),  who  was  chiefly  instrumental  in 
making  known  the  sacred  musical  classics  of  Italy  and  Germany 
to  the  English  public.  He  is  mentioned  in  Charles  Lamb's  famous 
essay,  "  A  Chapter  on  Ears."  He  was  the  father  of  the  well-known 
singer  Clara  Anastasia,  also  of  Mary  Victoria,  Mrs.  Cowden  Clarke, 
the  Shakespearean  authority. 

138 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

whose  wonderful  remains  of  power  in  his  old  age  we  t 
may  judge  what  he  must  have  been  in  his  prime.     I  f 
mean  with  regard  to  voice ;  for  as  to  general  manner 
and  spirit,  it  is  a  curious  fact  that,  except  when  he  was 
in  the  act  of  singing,  he  used  to  be  a  remarkably  in-  |; 
sipid  performer ;  and  that  it  w^as  not  till  he  was  grow-  | 
ing  elderly  that  he  became  the  animated  person  we  I 
now  see    him.     This,   too,   he  did  all  on  a  sudden,  to 
the  amusement  as  well  as  astonishment  of  the  behold- 
ers.    When  he  sang,   he  was  always  animated.     The  )- 
probability  is  that  he  had  been  bred  up  under  masters  ' 
who  were  wholly  untheatrical,  and  that  something  had 
occurred  to  set  his  natural  spirit  reflecting  on  the  in- 
justice they  had  done  him  ;  though,  for  a  reason  which 
I  shall  give  presently,  the  theatre,  after  all,  was  not  the  <} 
best  field  for  his  abilities.    He  had  wonderful  execution 
as  well  as  force,  and  his  voice  could  also  be  very  sweet, 
though  it  was  too  apt   to    betray  something  of  that 
nasal  tone  which  has  been  observed  in  Jews,  and  which 
is,  perhaps,  quite  as  much,   or  more,  a  habit  in  which 
they  have   been   brought   up,  than   a  consequence  of 
organization.     The    same    thing   has    been   noticed   in 
Americans  ;  and  it  might  not  be  difficult  to  trace  it  to 
moral,  and  even  to  monied  causes  ;  those,  to  w^it,  that 
induce  people  to  retreat  inwardly   upon  themselves  ; 
into  a  sense  of  their  shrewdness  and  resources ;  and  to 
clap  their  finger  in  self -congratulation  upon  the  organ 
through  which  it  pleases  them  occasionally  to  intimate 
as  much  to  a  bystander,  not  choosing  to  trust  it  wholly 
to  the  mouth. 

Perhaps  it  was  in  some  measure  the  same  kind  of  | 
breeding  (I  do  not  say  it  in  disrespect,  but  in  reference  | 
to  matters  of  caste,  far  more  discreditable  to  Christians  | 
than  Jews)  which  induced  Mr.  Braham  ^  to  quit  thej? 
Italian  stage,  and  devote  himself  to  his  popular  and! 
not  very  refined  style  of  bravura-singing  on  the  Eng-  J 
lish.      It   was  what  may  be  called  the  loud-and-soft? 

i 


[*  John  Braham  (1774-1856).  His  real  name  was  Abraham.  He  en- 
joyed great  popularity  throughout  his  life  as  a  singer.  Amongst 
his  many  compositions,  his  song  "The  Death  of  Nelson"  is  still  a 
favourite.] 

139 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

stylo.  There  was  admirable  execution  ;  but  the  expres- 
sion consisted  in  being  very  soft  on  the  words  love, 
peace,  etc.,  and  then  bursting  into  roars  of  triumph  on 
the  words  hate,  war,  and  gloi^j.  To  this  pattern  Mr. 
Braham  composed  many  of  the  songs  written  for  him ; 
and  tlie  pubUc  were  enchanted  with  a  style  which  en- 
abled them  to  fancy  that  they  enjoyed  the  highest  style 
of  the  art,  while  it  required  only  the  vulgarest  of  their 
perceptions.  This  renowned  vocalist  never  did  himself 
justice  except  in  the  compositions  of  Handel.  When 
he  stood  in  the  concert-room  or  the  oratorio,  and 
opened  his  mouth  with  plain,  heroic  utterance  in  the 
mighty  strains  of  "Deeper  and  deeper  still,"  or  "Sound 
an  alarm,"  or  "  Comfort  ye  my  people,"  you  felt  in- 
deed that  you  had  a  great  singer  before  you.  His 
voice  which  too  often  sounded  like  a  horn  vulgar,  in 
the  catchpenny  lyrics  of  Tom  Dibdin,  now  became  a 
;  veritable  trumpet  of  grandeur  and  exaltation ;  the 
tabernacle  of  his  creed  seemed  to  open  before  him  in 
its  most  victorious  days ;  and  you  might  have  fancied 
yourself  in  the  jjresence  of  one  of  the  sons  of  Aaron, 
calling  out  to  the  host  of  the  people  from  some  plat- 
form occupied  by  their  prophets. 

About  the  same  time  Pasta  ^  made  her  first  appear- 
ance in  England,  and  produced  no  sensation.  She  did 
not  even  seem  to  attempt  any.  Her  nature  was  so 
truthful,  that,  having  as  yet  no  acquirements  to  dis- 
play, it  would  appear  that  she  did  not  pretend  she 
had.  She  must  either  have  been  prematurely  put  for- 
ward by  others,  or,  with  an  instinct  of  her  future 
greatness,  supposed  that  the  instinct  itself  would  be 
recognized.  When  she  came  the  second  time,  after 
completing  her  studies,  she  took  rank  at  once  as  the 
greatest  genius  in  her  line  which  the  Italian  theatre  in 
England  had  witnessed.  She  was  a  great  tragic  ac- 
tress ;  and  her  singing,  in  point  of  force,  tenderness, 
and  expression,   was  equal  to    her  acting.     All   noble 

['  Judith  Pasta  (1798-1865)  was  a  Jewess  by  bii^th.  She  made 
her  first  appearance  in  public  about  the  year  1822 ;  so  Leigh 
Hunt's  recollections  of  her,  are  of  a  date  somewhat  later  than  one 
would  gather  from  the  text.) 

140 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

passions  belonged  to  her ;  and  her  very  scorn  seemed 
equally  noble,  for  it  trampled  only  on  what  was  mean. 
When  she  measured  her  enemy  from  head  to  foot,  in 
Tancredi,  you  really  felt  for  the  man,  at  seeing  him  so 
reduced  into  nothingness.  When  she  made  her  en- 
trance on  the  stage,  in  the  same  character — which  she 
did  right  in  front  of  the  audience,  midway  between 
the  side  scenes,  she  waved  forth  her  arms,  and  drew 
them  quietly  together  again  over  her  bosom,  as  if  she 
sweetly,  yet  modestly,  embraced  the  whole  house. 
And  when,  in  the  part  of  Medea,  she  looked  on  the 
children  she  was  about  to  kill,  and  tenderly  parted 
their  hair,  and  seemed  to  mingle  her  very  eyes  in 
lovingness  with  theirs,  uttering,  at  the  same  time, 
notes  of  the  most  w^andering  and  despairing  sweetness, 
every  gentle  eye  melted  into  tears.  She  wanted  height, 
and  had  somewhat  too  much  flesh ;  but  it  seemed  the 
substance  of  the  very  health  of  her  body,  which  was 
otherwise  shapely.  Her  head  and  bust  were  of  the 
finest  classical  mould.  An  occasional  roughness  in  her 
lower  tones  did  but  enrich  them  with  passion,  as  people 
grow  hoarse  with  excess  of  feeling ;  and  while  her  voice 
was  in  its  prime,  even  a  little  incorrectness  now  and 
then  in  the  notes  would  seem  the  consequence  of  a  like 
boundless  emotion  ;  but,  latterly,  it  argued  a  failure  of 
ear,  and  consoled  the  mechanical  artists  w^ho  had  been 
mystified  by  her  success.  In  every  other  respect, 
perfect  truth,  graced  by  idealism,  w^as  the  secret  of 
Pasta's  greatness.  She  put  truth  first  always  ;  and,  in 
so  noble  and  sweet  a  mind,  grace  followed  it  as  a  natural 
consequence. 

With  the  exception  of  Lablache,^  that  wonderful 
barytone  singer,  full  of  might  as  well  as  mirth,  in 
whom  the  same  truth,  accompanied  in  some  respects 
by  the  same  grace  of  feeling,  suffered  itself  to  be  over- 
laid with  comic  fat  (except  when  he  turned  it  into  an 
heroic  amplitude  with  drapery),  I  remember  no  men 
on  our  Italian  stage  equal  to  the  women.  Women 
have  carried  the  palm  out  and  out,  in  acting,  singing, 

[»  Louis  Lablache  (1794-1858)  was  born  in  Naples  ;  he  made  his  first 
appearance  in  London  in  1834.] 

141 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH  HUNT 

and  danciii}?.  The  pleasurable  seems  more  the  forte  of 
the  sex  ;  and  the  opera  house  is  essentially  a  palace 
of  pleasure,  even  in  its  tragedy.  Bitterness  there  can- 
not but  speak  sweetly  ;  there  is  no  darkness,  and  no 
poverty ;  and  every  death  is  the  death  of  the  swan. 
When  the  men  are  sweet,  they  either  seem  feeble,  or, 
as  in  the  case  of  Rubini,  have  execution  without  pas- 
sion. Naldi  was  amusing ;  Tramezzani  was  elegant ; 
Ambrogetti  (whose  great  big  calves  seemed  as  if  they 
ought  to  have  saved  him  from  going  into  La  Trappe) 
was  a  fine  dashing  representative  of  Don  Juan,  with- 
out a  voice.  But  what  were  these  in  point  of  impres- 
sion on  the  public,  compared  with  the  women  I  have 
mentioned,  or  even  with  voluptuous  Fodor,  w^ith  ami- 
able Sontag,  with  charming  Malibran  (whom  I  never 
saw),  or  ^\4th  adorable  Jenny  Lind  ^  (whom,  as  an  Irish- 
man would  say,  I  have  seen  still  less ;  for  not  to  see 
her  appears  to  be  a  deprivation  beyond  all  ordinary 
conceptions  of  musical  loss  and  misfortune)  ? 

As  to  dancers,  male  dancers  are  almost  always  gaw- 
kies,  compared  M^ith  female.  One  forgets  the  names  of 
the  best  of  them ;  but  who,  that  ever  saw,  has  forgot- 
ten Heberle,  or  Cerito,  or  Taglioni  ?  There  was  a  great 
noise  once  in  France  about  the  Vestrises  ;  ^  particularly 
old  Vestris ;  but  (with  all  due  respect  to  our  gallant 
neighbours)  I  have  a  suspicion  that  he  took  the  French 
in  with  the  gravity  and  imposingness  of  his  twirls. 
There  was  an  imperial  demand  about  Vestris,  likely  to 
create  for  him  a  corresponding  supply  of  admiration. 
The  most  popular  dancers  of  whom  I  have  a  recollec- 
tion, when  I  was  young,  were  Deshayes,  who  was 
rather  an  elegant  posture-master  than  dancer,  and 
!  Madame  Parisot,  who  was  very  thin  and  always  smil- 
(ing.  I  could  have  seen  little  dancing  in  those  times, 
'or   I    should   have    something  to   say  of  the    Presles, 

[»  Jenny  Lind  (1820-1887),  "The  Swedish  Nightingale,"  first  ap- 
peared in  London  in  1847.  She  married  her  accompanist,  Otto 
Goldschmidt,  in  1851.] 

[2  Maria  Taglioni  (1804-1884)  and  Lucia  Elizabeth  Vestris,  ri^e 
Bartolizzi  (1797-1856),  two  Italian  dancers  of  great  repute.  The 
husband  of  the  latter  belonged  to  a  family  of  famous  dancers.] 

142 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

Didelots,  and  others,  who  turned  the  heads  of  the 
Yarmouths  and  Barrymores  of  the  day.  Art,  in  all  its 
branches,  has  since  grown  more  esteemed  ;  and  I  sus- 
pect that  neither  dancing  nor  singing  ever  attained  so 
much  grace  and  beauty  as  they  have  done  within  the 
last  twenty  years.  The  Farinellis  and  Pacchierottis 
were  a  kind  of  monsters  of  execution.  There  w^ere 
tones,  also,  in  their  voices  which,  in  all  probability, 
were  very  touching.  But,  to  judge  from  their  printed 
songs,  their  chief  excellence  lay  in  difficult  and  ever- 
lasting roulades.  And  we  may  guess,  even  now,  from 
the  prevailing  character  of  French  dancing,  that  diffi- 
culty was  the  great  point  of  conquest  with  Vestris. 
There  was  no  such  graceful  understanding  between  the 
playgoers  and  the  performers,  no  such  implied  recog- 
nition of  the  highest  principles  of  emotion,  as  appears 
to  be  the  case  in  the  present  day  with  the  Taglionis 
and  Jenny  Linds. 

To  return   to    the    English  boards, — the    first  actor* 
whom  I  remember  seeing  upon  them  w^as  excellent  Jacki 
Bannister.^     He  was  a  handsome  specimen  of  the  best' 
kind  of  Englishman, — jovial,   manly,    good-humoured,! 
unaifected,  with  a  great  deal  of  whim  and  drollery,  buts 
never  passing  the  bounds  of  the  decorous ;  and  when  \ 
he  had  made  you  laugh  heartily  as  some  yeoman  or 
seaman  in  a  comedy,  he  could  bring  the  tears  into  your 
eyes   for  some   honest   sufferer   in  an  afterpiece.     He 
gave  you  the  idea  of  a  good  fellow, — a  worthy  house- 
hold humourist, — whom  it  would  be  both  pleasant  andj 
profitable  to  five  w^ith  ;  and  this  was  his  real  character,  i 
He  had  a  taste  for  pictures,  and  settled  down  into  a( 
good  English  gout  and  the  love  of  his  family.     I  saw ' 
him  one  day  hobbling  with  a  stick  in  Gower  Street, 
where  he  lived,  and  the  same  evening  performing  the 
part    either   of  the  young    squire,   Tony  Lumpkin,  in) 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  or  of  Acres,  in  the  Comedy  of  ^ 
the  Rivals,  I  forget  which  ;  but  in  either  character  he  - 
would  be  young   to  the  last.     Next  day  he  would  per-^ 

['  John  Bannister  (1760-1836).  The  son  of  Charles  Bannister,  actor 
and  vocalist,  who  prepared  him  for  the  stage.  Garrick  also  gave 
him  some  instruction.] 

143 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

form  the  old  father,  the  Brazier,  in  Colman's  senti- 
nientiil  comedy,  John  Bull ;  and  everybody  would  see 
that  it  was  a  father  indeed  who  was  suffering. 

This  could  not  be  said  of  Fawcett^  in  the  same 
character,  who  roared  like  Bull,  but  did  not  feel  like 
John.  He  was  affecting,  too,  in  his  way  ;  but  it  was 
after  the  fashion  of  a  great  noisy  boy,  whom  you  can- 
not help  pitying  for  his  tears,  though  you  despise  him 
for  his  vulgarity.  Fawcett  had  a  harsh,  brazen  face, 
and  a  voice  like  a  knife-grinder's  wheel.  He  was  all 
pertness,  coarseness,  and  effrontery,  but  with  a  great 
deal  of  comic  force  ;  and  whenever  he  came  trotting 
on  to  the  stage  (for  such  was  his  walk)  and  pouring 
forth  his  harsh,  rapid  words,  w^ith  his  nose  in  the  air, 
and  a  facetious  grind  in  his  throat,  the  audience  were 
prepared  for  a  merry  evening. 

Munden^  w^as  a  comedian  famous  for  the  variety  and 
significance  of  his  grimaces,  and  for  making  something 
out  of  nothing  by  a  certain  intensity  of  contemplation. 
Lamb,  w^ith  exquisite  wit,  described  him  in  one  sen- 
tence by  saying  that  Munden  "  beheld  a  leg  of  mutton 
in  its  quiddity."  If  he  laid  an  emphasis  on  the  word 
"  Holborn,"  or  "  button,"  he  did  it  in  such  a  manner 
that  you  thought  there  was  more  in  "  Holborn "  or 
"  button  "  than  it  ever  before  entered  into  your  head  to 
conceive.  I  have  seen  him,  v^rhile  playing  the  part  of 
a  vagabond  loiterer  about  inn-doors,  look  at,  and  gradu- 
ally approach  a  pot  of  ale  on  a  table  from  a  distance, 
for  ten  minutes  together,  w^hile  he  kept  the  house  in 
roars  of  laughter  by  the  intense  idea  which  he  dumbly 
ponveyed  of  its  contents,  and  the  no  less  intense  mani- 
festation of  his  cautious  but  inflexible  resolution  to 
drink  it.  So,  in  acting  the  part  of  a  credulous  old 
jantiquary,  on  whom  an  old  beaver  is  palmed  for  the 
f  hat  of  William  Tell,"  he  reverently  put  the  hat  on  his 
head,  and  then  solemnly  walked  to  and  fro  with  such 

[^  John  Fawcett  (1768-1837).  Like  Elliston,  he  was  educated  at 
St.  Paul's  School,] 

[^  Joseph  Shepherd  Munden  (1758-1832).  The  story  of  Lamb  quoted 
above  appears  in  Elia,  "The  acting  of  Munden."  "The  Auto- 
biography of  Mr.  Munden,"  pubHshed  in  the  London  Magazine,  was 
one  of  Charles  Lamb's  celebrated  hoaxes.] 

144 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

an  excessive  sense  of  the  glory  with  which  he  was 
crowned,  such  a  weight  of  reflected  heroism,  and  accu- 
mulation of  Tell's  whole  history  on  that  single  repre- 
sentative culminating  point,  elegantly  halting  every 
now  and  then  to  put  himself  in  the  attitude  of  one 
drawing  a  bow,  that  the  spectator  could  hardly  have 
been  astonished  had  they  seen  his  hair  stand  on  end 
and  carry  the  hat  aloft  with  it.  But  I  must  not  suffer 
myself  to  be  led  into  these  details. 

Lewis  ^  was  a  comedian  of  the  rarest  order,  for  he 
combined  whimsicality  with  elegance,  and  levity  with 
heart.  He  was  the  fop,  the  lounger,  the  flatterer,  the 
rattlebrain,  the  sower  of  wild  oats  ;  and  in  all  he  was 
the  gentleman.  He  looked  on  the  stage  what  he  was 
off  it,  the  companion  of  wits  and  men  of  quality.  It  is 
pleasant  to  know  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  Erasmus 
Lewis,  the  secretary  of  Lord  Oxford,  and  friend  of  Pope 
and  Swift.  He  was  airiness  personified.  He  had  a 
light  person,  light  features,  a  light  voice,  a  smile  that 
showed  the  teeth,  with  good-humoured  eyes  ;  and  a 
genial  levity  pervaded  his  action,  to  the  very  tips  of  his 
delicately-gloved  fingers.  He  drew  on  his  glove  like  a 
gentleman,  and  then  darted  his  fingers  at  the  ribs  of 
the  character  he  was  talking  with,  in  a  way  that  carried 
with  it  whatever  was  suggestive,  and  sparkling,  and 
amusing.  When  he  died  they  put  up  a  classical  Latin 
inscription  to  his  memory,  about  elegantice  and  lepores 
(whims  and  graces)  ;  and  you  felt  that  no  man  better 
deserved  it.  He  had  a  right  to  be  recorded  as  the  type 
of  airy  genteel  comedy. 

Elliston^  was  weightier  both  in  manner  and  person  ; 
and  he  was  a  tragedian  as  well  as  comedian.  Not  a 
great  tragedian,  though  able  to  make  a  serious  and 
affecting  impression ;  and  when  I  say  weightier  in 
comedy  than  Lewis,  I  do  not  mean  heavy ;  but  that  he 
had  greater  bodily  substance  and  force.     In  Sir  Harry 

['  William  Thomas  Lewis  (?  1748-1871),  known  as  "Gentleman 
Lewis."] 

[''  Robert  William  Elliston  (1774-1831),  now  chiefly  remembered 
through  Charles  Lamb's  essays,  "To  the  Shade  of  Elliston"  and 
"  Ellistoniana."  He  it  was  who  played  the  t/itle  rdle  in  Lamb's  farce, 
Mr.  H.,  on  its  single  appearance  on  December  10,  1806.] 

145  L 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

Wlldair,  for  insUince,  he  looked  more  like  the  man  who 
toiiKl  bear  rakeryaiid  debauch.  The  engraved  portrait 
of  him  in  a  coat  bordered  with  fur  is  very  like.  He 
had  dry  as  well  as  genial  humour,  was  an  admirable 
representative  of  the  triple  hero  in  Three  and  the  Deuce, 
of  Charles  Surface,  Don  Felix,  the  Duke  in  the  Honey- 
moon, and  of  all  gallant  and  gay  lovers  of  a  robust 
order,  not  omitting  the  most  cordial.  Indeed,  he  was 
the  most  genuine  lover  that  I  ever  saw  on  the  stage. 
No  man  approached  a  woman  as  he  did, — with  so  flatter- 
ing a  mixture  of  reverence  and  passion — such  closeness 
without  insolence,  and  such  a  trembling  energy  in  his 
words.  His  utterance  of  the  single  w^ord  "  charming  " 
was  a  volume  of  rapturous  fervour.  I  speak,  of  course, 
only  of  his  better  days.  Latterly,  he  grew  flustered 
w^ith  imprudence  and  misfortune  ;  and  from  the 
accounts  I  have  heard  of  his  acting,  nobody  who  had 
not  seen  him  before  could  have  guessed  w^hat  sort  of 
man  he  had  been.  Elliston,  like  Lewis,  went  upon  the 
stage  with  advantages  of  training  and  connections. 
He  was  nephew  of  Dr.  Elliston,  master  of  one  of  the 
colleges  at  Cambridge  ;  and  he  was  educated  at  Saint 
Paul's  school. 

These  are  the  actors  of  those  days  whom  I  recollect 
w^ith  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  include  Fawcett,  because 
he  was  identified  with  some  of  the  most  laughable 
characters  in  farce. 

To  touch  on  some  others.  Liston  ^  was  renowned  for 
an  exquisitely  ridiculous  face  and  manner,  rich  w^ith 
half-conscious,  half -unconscious  absurdity.  The  whole 
piece  became  Listonized  the  moment  he  appeared. 
People  longed  for  his  coming  back,  in  order  that  they 
might  dote  on  his  oily,  mantling  face,  and  laugh  with 
him  and  at  him. 

Mathews^  was  a  genius  in  mimicry,  a  facsimile  in 
mind  as  well  as  manner  ;  and  he  was    a   capital   Sir 

{'  John  Liston  (1776-1846).  His  earliest  efforts  were  associated 
with  tragedy,  which  he  happily  abandoned  for  comedy,  his  true 
forte.  He  produced  a  great  sensation  in  1825  by  the  creation  of  the 
character,  "  Paul  Pry,"  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre.] 

[-  Charles  Mathews  (1776-1835),  born  the  same  year  as  his  friend 
Liston,  with  whom  he  began  his  stage  life.] 

146 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

Fretful  Plagiary.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  him  looking 
•wretchedly  happy  at  his  victimizers,  and  digging 
deeper  and  deeper  into  his  mortification  at  every  fresh 
button  of  his  coat  that  he  buttoned  up. 

Dowton^  was  perfect  in  such  characters  as  Colonel 
Oldboy  and  Sir  Anthony  Absolute.  His  anger  was  no 
petty  irritability,  but  the  boiling  of  a  rich  blood,  and 
of  a  will  otherwise  genial.  He  was  also  by  far  the  best 
Falstaff. 

Cooke, ^  a  square-faced,  hook-nosed,  wide-mouthed, 
malignantly  smiling  man,  was  intelligent  and  peremp- 
tory, and  a  hard  hitter :  he  seized  and  strongly  kept 
your  attention  ;  but  he  w^as  never  pleasant.  He  was 
too  entirely  the  satirist,  the  hypocrite,  and  the  villain. 
He  loved  too  fondly  his  own  caustic  and  rascally  words  ; 
so  that  his  voice,  which  was  otherwise  harsh,  was  in 
the  habit  of  melting  and  dying  aw^ay  inwardly  in  the 
secret  satisfaction  of  its  smiling  malignity.  As  to  his, 
vaunted  tragedy,  it  was  a  mere  reduction  of  Shak- C 
speare's  poetry  into  indignant  prose.  He  limited  every  ^ 
character  to  its  worst  qualities ;  and  had  no  idealism, 
no  affections,  no  verse. 

Kemble  ^  was  a  god  compared  with  Cooke,  as  far  as 
the  ideal  was  concerned ;  though,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  never  could  admire  Kemble  as  it  was  the  fashion  to 
do.  He  was  too  artificial,  too  formal,  too  critically  and 
deliberately  conscious.  Nor  do  I  think  that  he  had  any 
genius  whatsoever.  His  power  was  all  studied  acquire- 
ment. It  was  this,  indeed,  by  the  help  of  his  stern 
Roman  aspect,  that  made  the  critics  like  him.  It  pre- 
sented, in  a  noble  shape,  the  likeness  of  their  own 
capabilities. 

Want  of  genius  could  not  be  imputed  to  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Siddons.*     I  did  not  see  her,  I  believe,  in  her  best 

[•  William  Dowton  (1764-1851).] 

1'^  George  Frederick  Cooke (1750-1811).    SeeHunt's  Critical  Essays.] 

[3  John  Philip  Kemble  (1757-1823).  The  eminent  tragedian.  He 
was  the  eldest  son  of  Roger  Kemble,  a  theati'ical  manager,  three 
of  whose  children  attained  great  fame  on  the  stage.  Besides  reach- 
ing the  foremost  position  in  his  profession,  J.  P.  Kemble  was  the 
author  and  editor  of  many  plays.] 

[■•  Sarah  Siddons,  n(ie  Kemble  (1755-18.31),  was  senior  to  her  brotlier 

147 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF    LEIGH    HUNT 

Via ys  ;  but  she  must  always  have  been  a  somewhat 
iiiasc'ulino  beauty ;  and  she  had  no  love  in  her,  apart 
from  other  passions.  She  was  a  mistress,  however,  of 
lofty,  of  queenly,  and  of  appalling  tragic  effect.  Never- 
theless, I  could  not  but  think  that  something  of  too 
much  art  was  apparent  even  in  Mrs.  Siddons  ;  and  she 
failed,  I  think,  in  the  highest  points  of  refinement. 
fWhen  she  smelt  the  blood  on  her  hand,  for  instance,  in 
\Mncheth,  in  the  scene  where  she  walked  in  her  sleep, 
•she  made  a  face  of  ordinary  disgust,  as  though  the 
odour  were  offensive  to  the  senses,  not  appalling  to  the 
mind. 

Charles  Kemble,^  who  had  an  ideal  face  and  figure, 
was  the  nearest  approach  I  ever  saw  to  Shakspeare's 
gentlemen,  and  to  heroes  of  romance.  He  also  made 
an  excellent  Cassio.  But  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Siddons,  who  was  declining,  all  the  reigning  school  of 
tragedy  had  retrograded  rather  than  otherwise,  towards 
the  time  that  preceded  Garrick  ;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  when  Kean  brought  back  nature  and  impulse, 
he  put  an  end  to  it  at  once,  as  Garrick  had  put  an  end 
to  Quin. 

In  comedy  nature  had  never  been  wanting  ;  and 
^there  was  one  comic  actress,  who  was  nature  herself  in 
lone  of  her  most  genial  forms.  This  was  Mrs.  Jordan,* 
fwho,  though  she  was  neither  beautiful,  nor  handsome, 
^jior  even  pretty,  nor  accomplished,  nor  "  a  lady,"  nor  any- 
Ithing  conventional  or  comme  il  faut  whatsoever,  yet  was 
so  pleasant,  so  cordial,  so  natural,  so  full  of  spirits,  so 
healthily  constituted  in   mind   and  body,   had   such  a 

John  by  two  years.  David  Garrick,  who  was  one  of  the  earliest  to 
recognize  her  abiUties,  engaged  her  at  Drury  Lane,  where  she  soon 
attained  great  success.  After  an  extraordinarily  brilliant  career  she 
withdrew  from  the  stage  in  1812.  At  the  time  of  her  retirement 
she  was  67.  If  Hunt  saw  her  ten  years  earlier  she  was  probably  past 
her  prime.] 

['  Charles  Kemble  (1775-1854),  tragedian,  and  the  younger  son  of 

this  remarkable  family.] 

^      [^  Dorothea  Bland  (?  1762-1816),  who,  though  never  married,  as- 

t  sumed  the  name  of  Mrs.  .Jordan.     Her  relations  with  the  Duke  of 

I  Clarence,  afterwards  William  IV.,  led  to  her  retirement  from  the 

stage,  where  she  was  universally  popular.     She  died  in  poverty  and 

neglect  at  St.  Cloud.] 

148 


PLAYGOING  AND  VOLUNTEERS 

shapely  leg  withal,   so  charming   a  voice,  and  such  a  \ 
happy  and  happy-making  expression  of  countenance,  | 
that  she  appeared  something  superior  to  all  those  re-  | 
quirements  of  acceptability,  and  to  hold  a  patent  from  | 
nature  herself  for  our  delight  and  good  opinion.     It  is  I 
creditable  to  the  feelings   of  society  in  general,  that  | 
allowances  are  made  for  the  temptations  to  which  the  I 
stage  exposes  the  sex  ;  and  in  Mrs.  Jordan's  case  these  ;' 
were  not  diminished  by  a  sense  of  the  like  considera- 
tion due  to  princely  restrictions,  and  to  the  manifest 
domestic  dispositions  of  more  parties  than  one.     But 
she  made  even  Methodists  love  her.      A  touching  story 
is  told  of  her  apologizing  to  a  poor  man  of  that  persua- 
sion for  having  relieved  him.     He  had  asked  her  name  ; 
and  she  expressed  a  hope  that  he  would  not  feel  offended 
when  the  name  was  told  him.     On  hearing  it,  the  honest 
Methodist  (he  could  not  have  been  one  on  board  the  hoy), 
shed  tears  of  pity  and  admiration,  and  trusted  that  he 
could  not  do  wrong  in  begging  a  blessing  on  her  head.   | 

{Se7'ious  Reviewer,  interi-wpting.  But,  my  good  sir,] 
suppose  some  of  your  female  readers  should  take  itl 
into  their  heads  to  be  Mrs.  Jordan  ?  | 

Author.  Oh,  my  good  sir,  don't  be  alarmed.  Myf 
female  readers  are  not  persons  to  be  so  much  afraid! 
for,  as  you  seem  to  think  yours  are.  The  stage  itself  | 
has  taught  them  large  measures  both  of  charity  and| 
discernment.  They  have  not  been  so  locked  up  \nl 
restraint,  as  to  burst  out  of  bounds  the  moment  theyi 
see  a  door  open  for  consideration.)  ^ 

Mrs.  Jordan  was  inimitable  in  exemplifying  the  con-'i 
sequences  of  too  much  restraint  in  ill-educated  Country ' 
Girls,  in  Romps,  in  Hoydens,  and  in  Wards  on  whom 
the   mercenary   have   designs.      She   wore   a   bib   and 
tucker,  and  pinafore,  with  a  bouncing  propriety,  fit  to ,' 
make   the    boldest   spectator   alarmed   at   the  idea  of 
bringing  such  a  household  responsibility  on  his  shoul- 
ders.    To  see  her  when  thus  attired  shed  blubbering, 
tears  for  some  disappointment,  and  eat  all  the  while  a; 
great   thick    slice    of   bread  and  butter,  weeping,  and: 
moaning,  and  munching,  and  eyeing  at  every  bite  the 
part  she  meant  to  bite  next,  w^as  a  lesson  against  will 

149 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

ami  appetite  wortli  a  hundred  sermons  of  our  friends 
on  board  the  hoy  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  could 
assuredly  have  done  and  said  nothin«^  at  all  calculated 
to  make  such  an  impression  in  favour  of  amiahleness 
as  she  did,  when  she  acted  in  gentle,  generous,  and  con- 
tiding  characters.  The  way  in  which  she  would  take  a 
friend  hy  the  cheek  and  kiss  her,  or  make  up  a  quarrel 
with  a  lover,  or  coax  a  guardian  into  good-humour,  or 
sing  (without  accompaniment)  the  song  of  "  Since  then 
I'm  doomd,"  or  "  In  the  dead  of  the  night,"  trusting,  as 
she  had  a  right  to  do,  and  as  the  house  wished  her  to 
do,  to  the  sole  effect  of  her  sweet,  mello^v,  and  loving 
voice — the  reader  will  pardon  me,  but  tears  of  pleasure 
and  regret  come  into  my  eyes  at  the  recollection,  as  if 
she  personified  whatsoever  was  happy  at  that  period  of 
life,  and  which  has  gone  like  herself.  The  very  sound 
of  the  little  familiar  word  bud  from  her  lips  (the  ab- 
breviation of  husband),  as  she  packed  it  closer,  as  it 
were,  in  the  utterance,  and  pouted  it  up  with  fondness 
in  the  man's  face,  taking  him  at  the  same  time  by  the 
chin,  was  a  whole  concentrated  world  of  the  power  of 
loving. 

That  is  a  pleasant  time  of  life,  the  playgoing  time  in 
youth,  when  the  coach  is  packed  full  to  go  to  the 
theatre,  and  brothers  and  sisters,  parents  and  lovers 
(none  of  whom,  perhaps,  go  very  often)  are  all  w^afted 
together  in  a  flurry  of  expectation  ;  when  the  only  wish 
as  they  go  (except  with  the  lovers)  is  to  go  as  fast  as 
^possible,  and  no  sound  is  so  delightful  as  the  cry  of 
"  Bill  of  the  Play " ;  when  the  smell  of  links  in  the 
darkest  and  muddiest  winter's  night  is  charming  ;  and 
the  steps  of  the  coach  are  let  dowTi  ;  and  a  roar  of 
hoarse  voices  round  the  door,  and  mud-shine  on  the 
pavement,  are  accompanied  w^ith  the  sight  of  the  warm- 
looking  lobby  which  is  about  to  be  entered  ;  and  they 
;  enter,  and  pay,  and  ascend  the  pleasant  stairs,  and 
/begin  to  hear  the  silence  of  the  house,  perhaps  the  first 
jingle  of  the  music  ;  and  the  box  is  entered  amidst  some 
little  aw^kwardness  in  descending  to  their  places,  and 
being  looked  at :  and  at  length  they  sit,  and  are  become 
used  to  by  their  neighbours,  and  shawls  and  smiles  are 

150 


J^^eai  Jo. 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

adjusted,  and  the  play-bill  is  handed  round  or  pinned 
to  the  cushion,  and  the  gods  are  a  little  noisy,  and  the 
music  veritably  commences,  and  at  length  the  curtain 
is  drawn  up,  and  the  first  delightful  syllables  are  heard  : 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  Charles,  when  did  you  see  the  lovely 
Olivia?" 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Sir  George,  talk  not  to  me  of  Olivia. 
The  cruel  guardian,"  etc. 

Anon  the  favourite  of  the  party  makes  his  appear- 
ance, and  then  they  are  quite  happy ;  and  next  day, 
besides  his  own  merits,  the  points  of  the  dialogue  are 
attributed  to  him  as  if  he  were  the  inventor.  It  is  not 
Sir  Harry,  or  old  Dornton,  or  Dubster,  who  said  this  or 
that ;  but  "  Lewis,"  "  Munden,"  or  "  Keeley."  They 
seem  to  think  the  wit  really  originated  with  the  man 
who  uttered  it  so  delightfully. 

Critical  playgoing  is  very  inferior  in  its  enjoyments 
to  this.  It  must  of  necessity  blame  as  well  as  praise ; 
it  becomes  difficult  to  please ;  it  is  tempted  to  prove  its 
own  merits,  instead  of  those  of  its  entertainers  ;  and 
the  enjoyments  of  self-love,  besides,  perhaps,  being  ill- 
founded,  and  subjecting  it  to  the  blame  which  it  bestows, 
are  sorry  substitutes,  at  the  best,  for  hearty  delight  in 
others.  Never,  after  I  had  taken  critical  pen  in  hand, 
did  I  pass  the  thoroughly  delightful  evenings  at  the 
playhouse  which  I  had  done  when  I  went  only  to  laugh 
or  be  moved.  I  had  the  pleasure,  it  is  true,  of  praising 
those  whom  I  admired  ;  but  the  retributive  uneasiness 
of  the  very  pleasure  of  blaming  attended  it ;  the  con- 
sciousness of  self,  which  on  all  occasions  except  loving 
ones  contains  a  bitter  in  its  sweet,  put  its  sorry  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  an  unembarrassed  delight ;  and  I  found 
the  days  flown  when  I  retained  none  but  the  good 
passages  of  plays  and  performers,  and  when  I  used  to 
carry  to  my  old  school-fellows  rapturous  accounts  of 
the  farces  of  Colman,^  and  the  good  natured  comedies 
of  O'Keefe.^ 

['  George  Colman  (1733-1794)  and  his  son  George  (1762-1836).  They 
both  wrote  plays,  but  Hunt  probably  refers  to  the  younger,  who 
was  the  author  of  several  popular  farces.  ] 

[^  John  O'Keefe  (1747-1833),  Irish  dramatist,  the  author  of  a  large 
number  of  comedies  and  farces.] 

151 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

I  speak  of  my  own  feelings,  and  at  a  particular  time 
of  life  ;  but  forty  or  fifty  years  ago  people  of  all  times 
of  life  were  much  greater  playgoers  than  they  are  now. 
They  dined  earlier,  they  had  not  so  many  newspapers, 
clubs,  and  pianofortes  ;  the  French  Revolution  only 
tended  at  first  to  endear  the  nation  to  its  own  habits  ; 
it  had  not  yet  opened  a  thousand  new  channels  of 
thought  and  interest ;  nor  had  railroads  conspired  to 
carry  people,  bodily  as  well  as  mentally,  into  as  many 
analogous  directions.  Everything  was  more  concen- 
trated, and  the  various  classes  of  society  felt  a  greater 
concern  in  the  same  amusements.  Nobility,  gentry, 
citizens,  princes — all  w^ere  frequenters  of  theatres,  and 
even  more  or  less  acquainted  personally  with  the  per- 
formers. Nobility  intermarried  with  them  ;  gentry, 
and  citizens  too,  wrote  for  them ;  princes  conversed 
and  lived  with  them.  Sheridan,  and  other  members  of 
Parliament,  were  managers  as  w^ell  as  dramatists.  It 
was  Lords  Derby, ^  Craven,^  and  Thurlow  ^  that  sought 
wives  on  the  stage.  Two  of  the  most  popular  minor 
dramatists  were  Cobb,*  a  clerk  in  the  India  House,  and 
Birch,*  the  pastrycook.  If  Mrs.  Jordan  lived  with  the 
Duke  of  Clarence  (William  IV.)  as  his  mistress,  nobody 
doubts  that  she  was  as  faithful  to  him  as  a  wife.  His 
brother,  the  Prince  of  Wales  (George  the  Fourth) 
besides  his  intimacy  with  Sheridan  and  the  younger 
Coleman,  and  to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Robinson,^  took  a 
pleasure  in  conversing  with  Kemble,  and  was  the  pre- 
sonal  patron  of  O'Keefe  and  of  Kelly.     The  Kembles, 

['  Eliza  Farren  (1750-1829)  married  the  Earl  of  Derby,  1797.] 

[2  Louisa  Brunton  (?  1785-1860)  retired  from  the  stage  in  1807  on 
becoming  the  wife  of  William,  seventh  baron,  and  first  Earl  of 
Craven,] 

[3  Edward  Howell-Thurlow,  second  Baron  Thvirlow  (1781-1829), 
married  in  1813  Mary  Catherine  Bolton,  an  actress  of  some  repute.] 

[*  James  Cobb  (1756-1818),  he  became  secretary  to  the  India 
Company.] 

[^  Samuel  Birch  (1757-1841),  owner  of  the  well-known  business  in 
Cornhill.  His  plays  were  frequently  produced  at  Covent  Garden, 
Drury  Lane  and  the  Haymarket.] 

[^  Mary  Robinson  (1758-1800),  n^e  Darby,  an  actress  of  great 
beauty.  Her  portrait  by  Gainsborough,  as  Perdita  in  the  Winter's 
Tale,  is  well  known.  It  was  while  playing  that  character  she  first 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.] 

152 


PLAYGOING   AND   VOLUNTEERS 

indeed,  as  Garrick  had  been,  were  received  everywhere 
among  the  truly  best  circles  ;  that  is  to  say,  where 
intelligence  was  combined  with  high  breeding  ;  and 
they  deserved  it :  for  whatever  difference  of  opinion 
may  be  entertained  as  to  the  amount  of  genius  in  the 
family,  nobody  who  recollects  them  will  dispute  that 
they  were  a  remarkable  race,  dignified  and  elegant  in 
manners,  with  intellectual  tendencies,  and  in  point  of 
aspect  very  like  what  has  been  called  "  God  Almighty'^, 
nobility." 

I  remember  once  standing  behind  John  Kemble  and 
a  noble  lord  at  a  sale.  It  was  the  celebrated  book  sale, 
of  the  Duke  of  Roxburgh  ;  ^  and  by  the  same  token  11 
recollect  another  person  that  was  present,  of  whom- 
more  by-and-by.  The  player  and  the  nobleman  were 
conversing,  the  former  in  his  high,  dignified  tones,  the 
latter  in  a  voice  which  I  heard  but  indistinctly.  Presently 
the  actor  turned  his  noble  profile  to  his  interlocutor,  and 
on  his  moving  it  back  again,  the  man  of  quality  turned 
his  !  What  a  difference  !  and  what  a  voice  !  Kemble's 
voice  was  none  of  the  best ;  but,  like  his  profile,  it  was 
nobleness  itself  compared  with  that  of  the  noble  lord. 
I  had  taken  his  lordship  for  a  young  man,  by  the  trim 
cut  of  his  body  and  of  his  clothes,  the  "  fall  in  "  of  his 
back,  and  the  smart  way  in  which  he  had  stuck  his  hat 
on  the  top  of  his  head  ;  but  when  I  saw  his  profile  and 
heard  his  voice,  I  seemed  to  have  before  me  a  prema- 
ture old  one.  His  mouth  seemed  toothless ;  his  voice 
was  a  hasty  mumble.  Without  being  aquiline,  the  face 
had  the  appearance  of  being  what  may  be  called  an  old 
"  nose-and-mouth  face."  The  suddenness  with  which  it 
spoke  added  to  the  surprise.  It  was  like  a  flash  of 
decrepitude  on  the  top  of  a  young  body. 

This  was  the  sale  at  which  the  unique  copy  of; 
Boccaccio  fetched  a  thousand  and  four  hundred  pounds.! 
It  was  bought  by  the  Marquis  of  Blandford  (the  late? 
Duke  of  Marlborough)  in  competition  with  Earl  Spencer,  j 
who  conferred  with  his  son.  Lord  Althorp,  and  gave  it  ' 
up.     So  at  least  I  understand,  for  I  was  not  aware  of 

[*  This  sale  of  the  library  of  John  Ker,  Duke  of  Roxburgh,  took 
place  in  1812.] 

153 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

the  oonforence,  or  of  the  presence  of  Lord  Althorp 
(afterwards  minister,  and  late  Earl  Spencer).  I  remem- 
ber his  father  well  at  the  sale,  and  how  he  sat  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  auctioneer's  table,  with  an  air  of 
intelligent  indiiYerence,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  so 
as  to  push  his  hat  up  a  little  from  off  it.  I  beheld  with 
pleasure  in  his  person  the  pupil  of  Sir  William  Jones ^ 
and  brother  of  Coleridge's  Duchess  of  Devonshire.^  It 
was  curious,  and  scarcely  pleasant,  to  see  two  Spencers 
thus  bidding  against  one  another,  even  though  the  bone 
of  contention  was  a  book ;  and  the  ghost  of  their  illus- 
trious kinsman,  the  author  of  the  Faerie  Qiceene,  might 
have  been  gratified  to  see  what  book  it  was,  and  how 
high  the  prices  of  old  folios  had  risen.  Wliat  satisfac- 
tion the  Marquis  got  out  of  his  victory  I  cannot  say. 
The  Earl,  who,  I  believe,  was  a  genuine  lover  of  books, 
eould  go  home  and  reconcile  himself  to  his  defeat  by 
Reading  the  work  in  a  cheaper  edition. 

I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  of  Mr.  Kemble  again 
presently,  and  of  subsequent  actors  by-and-by. 


CHAPTER   VII 

ESSAYS   IN  CRITICISM 

[1804-18081 

I  HAD  not  been  as  misdirected  in  the  study  of  prose 
as  in  that  of  poetry.  It  was  many  years  before  I 
discovered  w^hat  was  requisite  in  the  latter.  In  the 
former,  the  very  commonplaces  of  the  schoolmaster 
tended  to  put  me  in  the  right  path,  for  (as  I  have 
already  intimated)  he  found  the  Spectator  in  vogue, 
and  this  became  our  standard  of  prose  writing. 

['  Sir  William  Jones  (1746-1795),  the  eminent  scholar  and  lawyer. 
He  became  tutor  to  Lord  Althorp  at  the  age  of  19.] 

[*  Georgiana,  Duchess  of  Devonshire  (1757-1806),  the  famous  beauty 
and  political  dame,  the  daughter  of  John,  Earl  Spencer  ;  she  married 
William  Cavendish,  Duke  of  Devonshire.  Coleridge  \vrote  an  ode 
to  her,  on  a  stanza  in  one  of  her  poems.] 

154 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

It  is  true  (as  I  have  also  mentioned)  that  in  conse- 
quence of  the  way  in  which  we  were  taught  to  use 
them  by  the  schoolmaster,  I  had  become  far  more  dis- 
gusted than  delighted  with  the  charming  papers  of 
Addison,  and  with  the  exaction  of  moral  observations 
on  a  given  subject.  But  the  seed  was  sown,  to  ripen 
under  pleasanter  circumstances  ;  and  my  father,  with 
his  usual  good-natured  impulse,  making  me  a  present 
one  day  of  a  set  of  the  British  classics,  which  attracted 
my  eyes  on  the  shelves  of  Harley,  the  bookseller  in 
Cavendish  Street,  the  tenderness  with  which  I  had 
come  to  regard  all  my  school  recollections,  and  the 
acquaintance  which  I  now  made  for  the  first  time  with 
the  lively  papers  of  the  Connoisseur,^  gave  me  an 
entirely  fresh  and  delightful  sense  of  the  merits  of 
essay-writing.  I  began  to  think  that  when  Boyer 
crumpled  up  and  chucked  away  my  "  themes "  in  a 
passion,  he  had  not  done  justice  to  the  honest  weariness 
of  my  anti-formalities,  and  to  their  occasional  evidences 
of  something  better. 

The  consequence  was  a  delighted  perusal  of  the  whole 
set  of  classics  (for  I  have  ever  been  a  "  glutton  of 
books ") :  and  this  was  followed  by  my  first  prose 
endeavours  in  a  series  of  papers  called  the  Traveller, 
which  appeared  in  the  evening  paper  of  that  name 
[long  since  incorporated  with  the  Globe],  under  the 
signature  of  "Mr.  Town,  junior.  Critic  and  Censor- 
general  " — the  senior  Mr.  Town,  with  the  same  titles, 
being  no  less  a  person  than  my  friend  of  the  Connoisseur; 
with  whom  I  thus  had  the  boldness  to  fraternize.  I 
offered  them  with  fear  and  trembling  to  the  editor  of 
the  Traveller,  Mr.  Quin,  and  was  astonished  at  the 
gaiety  with  which  he  accepted  them.  What  astonished 
me  more  was  a  perquisite  of  five  or  six  copies  of  the 
paper,  which  I  enjoyed  every  Saturday  when  my  essays 
appeared,  and  with  which  I  used  to  reissue  from  Bolt 

y  Of  the  Connoisseur  (1754-6),  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  says  that  it  "was 
mainly  the  work  of  two  friends,  George  Colman  and  Bonnell  Thorn- 
ton, 1724-1768,  the  Erckmann-Chatrian  of  their  age.  Whether 
wi'iting  separately  or  together,  their  style  is  undistinguishable. 
They  had  a  few  assistants,  the  most  notable  of  whom  were  Oowper 
the  poet,  and  Churchill's  friend,  the  unfortunate  Robert  Lloyd."] 

15.5 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

Court  in  a  state  of  transport.  I  had  been  told,  but 
could  not  easily  ronceive,  that  the  editor  of  a  new 
evening  paper  would  be  happy  to  fill  up  his  pages  w^ith 
any  decent  writing  ;  but  Mr.  Quin  praised  me  besides  ; 
and  I  could  not  behold  the  long  columns  of  type,  w^ritten 
by  myself,  in  a  public  paper,  without  thinking  there 
must  be  some  merit  in  them,  besides  that  of  being  a 
stop-gap. 

Luckily,  the  essays  were  little  read ;  they  were  not 
at  all  noticed  in  public ;  and  I  thus  escaped  the  perils 
of  another  premature  laudation  for  my  juvenility.  I 
was  not  led  to  repose  on  the  final  merits  either  of  my 
prototype  or  his  imitator.  The  Connoisseur,  neverthe- 
less, gave  me  all  the  transports  of  a  first  love.  His 
citizen  at  Vauxhall,  who  says,  at  every  mouthful  of 
beef,  "  There  goes  twopence " ;  and  the  creed  of  his 
unbeliever,  who  "  believes  in  all  unbelief,"  competed  for 
a  long  time  in  my  mind  with  the  humour  of  Goldsmith. 
I  was  also  greatly  delighted  with  the  singular  account 
of  himself,  in  the  dual  number,  with  which  he  concludes 
his  work,  shadowing  forth  the  two  authors  of  it  in  one 
person  : — 

"Mr.  Town"  (says  he)  "is  a  fair,  black,  middle-sized,  very  short 
person.  He  wears  his  own  hair,  and  a  periwig.  He  is  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  and  not  more  than  four-and-twenty.  He  is  a  student 
of  the  law  and  a  bachelor  of  physic.  He  was  bred  at  the  University 
of  Oxford  ;  where,  having  taken  no  less  than  three  degrees,  he  looks 
down  on  many  learned  professors  as  his  inferiors  ;  yet,  having  been 
there  but  little  longer  than  to  take  the  first  degree  of  bachelor  of 
arts,  it  has  more  than  once  happened  that  the  censor-general  of  all 
England  has  been  reprimanded  by  the  censor  of  his  college  for 
neglecting  to  furnish  the  usual  essay,  or  (in  the  collegiate  phrase) 
the  theme  of  the  week." 

Probably  these  associations  with  school-terms,  and 
with  a  juvenile  time  of  life,  gave  me  an  additional 
liking  for  the  Connoisseur.  The  twofold  author,  which 
he  thus  describes  himself,  consisted  of  Bonnell  Thornton, 
afterwards  the  translator  of  Plautus,  and  Colman,  the 
dramatist,  author  of  the  Jealous  Wife,  and  translator 
of  Terence.  Colman  was  the  "  very  short  person  "  of 
four-and-twenty,  and  Thornton  w^as  the  bachelor  of 
physic,  though  he  never  practised.  The  humour  of 
these  writers,  compared  with   Goldsmith's,  was  carica- 

156 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

ture,  and  not  deep ;  they  had  no  pretensions  to  the 
genius  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield ;  but  they  possessed 
great  animal  spirits,  which  are  a  sort  of  merit  in  this 
climate ;  and  this  was  another  claim  on  my  regard. 
The  name  of  Bonnell  Thornton  (whom  I  had  taken  to 
be  the  sole  author  of  the  Connoisseur)  was  for  a  long 
time,  with  me,  another  term  for  animal  spirits,  humour, 
and  wit.  I  then  discovered  that  there  was  more  smart- 
ness in  him  than  depth  ;  and  had  I  known  that  he  and 
Colman  had  ridiculed  the  odes  of  Gray,  I  should,  per- 
haps, have  made  the  discovery  sooner ;  though  I  w^as 
by  no  means  inclined  to  confound  parody  with  dis- 
respect. But  the  poetry  of  Gray  had  been  one  of  my 
first  loves ;  and  I  could  as  soon  have  thought  of  friend- 
ship or  of  the  grave  with  levity,  as  of  the  friend  of 
West,^  and  the  author  of  the  Elegy  and  the  Bard. 

An  amusing  story  is  told  of  Thornton,  which  may 
show^  the  quick  and  ingenious,  but,  perhaps,  not  very  - 
feeling  turn  of  his  mind.     It  is  said  that  he  was  once  i; 
discovered  by  his  father  sitting  in  a  box  at  the  theatre,  | 
when  he   ought  to  have  been  in  his   rooms  at  college. 
The    old   gentleman  addressing   him  accordingly,  that! 
youngster    turned    in    pretended    amazement    to    thei 
people  about  him,  and  said,  "  Smoke  old  wigsby,  who^ 
takes  me  for  his  son."     Thornton,  senior,   upon  this, 
indignantly  hastens  out  of  the  box,  with  the  manifest 
intention  of  setting  off  for  Oxford,    and  finding  the 
rooms  vacant.     Thornton,  junior,  takes    double  post- 
horses,  and  is  there  before  him,  quietly  sitting  in  his 
chair.     He  rises  from  it  on  his  father's  appearance,  and 
cries,  "  Ah  !  dear  sir,  is  it  you  ?     To  what  am  I  indebted 
for  this  unexpected  pleasure  ?  " 

Goldsmith  enchanted  me.  I  knew  no  end  of  repeat- 
ing passages  out  of  the  Essays  and  the  Citizen  of  the 
World — such  as  the  account  of  the  Club,  with  its  Babel 
of  talk  ;  of  Beau  Tibbs,  with  his  dinner  of  ox-cheek 
which  "  his  grace  was  so  fond  of"  ;  and  of  the  wooden- 
legged  sailor,  who  regarded  those  that  were  lucky  ; 
enough  to  have  their  "  legs  shot  off  "   on  board  king's 

['  Gilbert  West  (1716-1756),  the  editor  of  Pindar,  and  the  friend 
and  correspondent  of  Thomas  Gray.] 

157 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

sliips  (whit'h  oTititled  them  to  a  penny  a  day),  as  being 
"  horn  witli  golden  spoons  in  their  mouths."  Then 
there  was  his  correct,  sweet  style  ;  the  village-painting 
in  his  poems  ;  the  Itetaliation,  which,  though  on  an 
artificial  subject,  seemed  to  me  (as  it  yet  seems)  a  still 
more  genuine  effusion ;  and,  above  all,  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield — with  Burchell,  whom  I  adored  ;  and  Moses, 
whom  I  would  rather  have  been  cheated  with,  than 
prosper  ;  and  the  Vicar  himself  in  his  cassock,  now 
presenting  his  "  Treatise  against  Polygamy "  (in  the 
family  picture)  to  his  w^ife,  habited  as  Venus ;  and  now 
distracted  for  the  loss  of  his  daughter  Olivia,  who  is 
seduced  by  the  villanous  squire.  I  knew  not  whether 
to  laugh  at  him,  or  cry  w^ith  him  most. 

These,  with  Fielding  and  Smollett,  Voltaire,  Charlotte 

Smith,*  Bage,^Mrs.  Radcliffe,and  AugustusLa  Fontaine,^ 

were  my  favourite  prose  authors.     I  had  subscribed, 

while  at  school,  to   the  famous  circulating  library  in 

Leadenhall  Street,^  and  I  have  continued  to  be  such  a 

glutton  of  novels  ever  since,  that,  except  where  they 

..  repel  me  in  the  outset  w^ith  excessive  w^ordiness,  I  can 

\  read  their  three-volume  enormities  to  this  day  without 

i  skipping  a  syllable  ;  though  I  guess  pretty  nearly  all 

'i  that  is  going  to  happen,  from  the  mysterious  gentleman 

'^,  who  opens  the  work  in  the  dress  of  a  particular  century, 

I  down  to  the  distribution  of  punishments  and  the  drying 

v;  up  of  tears   in  the  last   chapter.     I  think  the  authors 

\  w^onderfuUy  clever  people,  particularly  those  w^ho  write 

';'  most ;  and  I  should  like  the  most  contemptuous  of  their 

I  critics  to  try  their   hands  at  doing  something  half  as 

I  engaging. 

\      Should  any  chance  observer  of  these  pages  (for  I  look 

\  upon  my  customary  perusers  as  people  of  deeper  insight) 

pronounce  such  a  course  of  reading  frivolous,  he  w^ill 

be  exasperated  to  hear  that,  had  it  not  been  for  rever- 

^ence  to  opinion,  I  should  have  been  much  inclined  at 

['  Charlotte  Smith  (1749-1806),  author  of  several  novels  and  a  series 
of  "  Elegiac  Sonnets."] 

[2  Robert  Bage  (172&-1801),  novelist.] 

[^  Henry    Julius    Augustus    Lafontaine    (1756-1831),    a    German 
novelist.] 

[*  The  Minerva  Press  of  William  Lane.] 

158 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

that  age  (as,  indeed,  I  am  still)  to  pronounce  the  reading  ^ 
of  far  graver  works  frivolous  ;  history,  for  one.     I  read  1 
every  history  that  came  in  my  way,  and  could  not  help? 
liking  good  old  Herodotus,  ditto  Villani,  picturesque,;] 
festive  Froissart,  and  accurate  and  most  entertaining,  | 
though    artificial,    Gibbon.       But  the  contradiction  of' 
historians  in  general,  their  assumption  of  a  dignity  for 
which  I  saw  no  particular  grounds,  their  unphilosophic  \ 
and  ridiculous  avoidance  (on  that  score)   of  personal 
anecdote,  and,  above  all,  the  narrow-minded  and  time- 
serving   confinement   of    their    subjects    to   wars  and 
party-government  (for  there  are  time-servings,  as  there 
are  fashions,  that  last  for  centuries),  instinctively  re-| 
pelled  me.     I  felt,  though  I  did  not  know,  till  Fielding! 
told  me,  that  there  was  more  truth  in  the  verisimilitudes| 
of  fiction  than  in  the  assumptions  of  history  ;  and  I 
rejoiced  over  the  story  told  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who, 
on  receiving  I  forget  how  many  different  accounts  o^, 
an    incident   that   occurred   under    his    own  windows,? 
laughed  at   the  idea  of  his  writing  a  History  of  thek 
World.  I 

But  the  writer  who  made  the  greatest  impression  on| 
me  was  Voltaire.     I  did  not  read  French  at  that  time,  ^ 
but  I  fell  in  with  the  best  translation  of  some  of  his' 
miscellaneous  works  ;  and  I  found  in  him  not  only  the 
original  of  much  which  I  had  admired  in  the  style  and 
pleasantry  of  my  favourite  native  authors,  Goldsmith/ 
in  particular  (who  adored  him),  but  the  most  formid-| 
able    antagonist   of   absurdities   which   the  world  has'^l 
seen  ;  a  discloser  of  lights  the  most  overwhelming,  in^ 
flashes  of  wit ;  a  destroyer  of  the  strongholds  of  super- ,^ 
stition,  that  were  never  to  be  built  up   again,  let  thef 
hour  of  renovation  seem  to  look  forth  again  as  it  might, 
I  was  transported  with  the  gay  courage  and  unquestion-  - 
able  humanity  of  this  extraordinary  person,  and  I  soon?* 
caught  the  tone  of  his  cunning  implications  and  pro- 
voking turns.     He  did  not  frighten  me.     I  never  felt 
for  a  moment,  young  as  I  was,  and  Christianly  brought 
up,  that  true  religion  would  suffer  at  his  hands.     On 
the  contrary,  I  had  been  bred  up  (in  my  home  circle) 
to  look  for  reforms  in  religion  :  I  had  been  led  to  desire 

159 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

tlie  best  and  f^ontlost  form  of  it,  unattended  with  threats 
and  horrors :  and  if  the  school  orthodoxy  did  not 
countenance  such  expectations,  it  took  no  pains  to  dis- 
countenance them.  I  had  privately  accustomed  myself, 
of  my  own  further  motion,  to  doubt  and  reject  every 
doctrine,  and  every  statement  of  facts,  that  went 
counter  to  the  plainest  precepts  of  love,  and  to  the 
final  happiness  of  all  the  creatures  of  God.  I  could 
never  see,  otherwise,  what  Christianity  could  mean, 
that  was  not  meant  by  a  hundred  inferior  religions  ;  nor 
could  I  think  it  right  and  holy  to  accept  of  the  great- 
est hopes,  apart  from  that  universality — Fiat  justitia, 
mat  cceluin.  I  was  prepared  to  give  up  heaven  itself 
(as  far  as  it  is  possible  for  human  hope  to  do  so)  rather 
than  that  anything  so  unheavenly  as  a  single  exclusion 
from  it  should  exist.  Therefore,  to  me,  Voltaire  was  a 
putter  down  of  a  great  deal  that  was  wrong,  but  of 
nothing  that  was  right.  I  did  not  take  him  for  a 
builder ;  neither  did  I  feel  that  he  knew  much  of  the 
sanctuary  which  w^as  inclosed  in  what  he  pulled  down. 
He  found  a  heap  of  rubbish  pretending  to  be  the  shrine 
itself,  and  he  set  about  denying  its  pretensions  and 
abating  it  as  a  nuisance,  w^ithout  knowing,  or  consider- 
ing (at  least  I  thought  so)  w^hat  there  remained  of 
beauty  and  durability,  to  be  disclosed  on  its  demolition. 
I  fought  for  him,  then  and  afterwards,  with  those  who 
challenged  me  to  the  combat ;  and  I  w^as  for  some  time 
driven  to  take  myself  for  a  Deist  in  the  most  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word,  till  I  had  learned  to  know  what  a 
Christian  truly  was,  and  so  arrived  at  opinions  on 
religious  matters  in  general  which  I  shall  notice  at  the 
conclusion  of  these  volumes. 

It  is  a  curious  circumstance  respecting  the  books  of 
Voltaire  —  the  greatest  writer  upon  the  whole  that 
France  has  produced,  and  undoubtedly  the  greatest 
name  in  the  eighteenth  century — that  to  this  moment 
they  are  far  less  known  in  England  than  talked  of  ; 
so  much  so,  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  educated 
circles,  chiefly  of  the  upper  class,  and  exclusively  among 
the  men  even  in  those,  he  had  not  only  been  hardly 
read  at  all,  even  by  such  as  have  talked  of  him  with 

160 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

admiration,  or  loaded  him  with  reproach,  but  the 
portions  of  his  writings  that  have  had  the  greatest 
effect  on  the  world  are  the  least  known  among  readers 
the  most  popularly  acquainted  with  him.  The  reasons 
of  this  remarkable  ignorance  respecting  so  great  a 
neighbour — one  of  the  movers  of  the  world,  and  an 
especial  admirer  of  England — are  to  be  found,  first,  in 
the  exclusive  and  timid  spirit,  under  the  guise  of 
strength  which  came  up  with  the  accession  of  George 
the  Third ;  second,  as  a  consequence  of  this  spirit,  a 
studious  ignoring  of  the  Frenchman  in  almost  all 
places  of  education,  the  colleges  and  foundations  in  par- 
ticular ;  third,  the  anti-Gallican  spirit  which  followed 
and  exasperated  the  prejudice  against  the  French  Revo- 
lution ;  and  fourth,  the  very  translation  and  popularity 
of  two  of  his  novels,  the  Candide  and  Zadig,  which, 
though  by  no  means  among  his  finest  productions,  had 
yet  enough  wit  and  peculiarity  to  be  accepted  as  suffi- 
cing specimens  of  him,  even  by  his  admirers.  Unfor- 
tunately one  of  these,  the  Candide,  contained  some  of 
his  most  licentious  and  even  revolting  writing.  This 
enabled  his  enemies  to  adduce  it  as  a  sufficing  specimen 
on  their  own  side  of  the  question  ;  and  the  idea  of 
him  which  they  succeeded  in  imposing  upon  the 
English  community  in  general  was  that  of  a  mere; 
irreligious  scoffer,  who  was  opposed  to  everything' 
good  and  serious,  and  who  did  but  mingle  a  little 
frivolous  wit  with  an  abundance  of  vexatious,  hard- 
hearted, and  disgusting  effrontery. 

There  is,  it  is  true,  a  version,  purporting  to  be  that 
of  his  whole  works,  by  Smollett,  Thomas  Francklin,^ 
and  others,   which  is  understood  to  have  been  what 
is   called  a   bookseller's   job ;   but   I   never   met   with  : 
it  except  in  an  old  catalogue ;  and  I  believe  it  was  so ' 
dull  and  bad,  that  readers  instinctively  recoiled  from 
it  as  an  incredible  representation  of  anything  lively. 
The  probability  is,  that  Smollett  only  lent  his  name  ; 
and  Francklin  himself  may  have  done  as  little,  though  ^ 
the  "  translator  of   Sophocles  "  (as   he  styled  himself)  ■ 

['  Thomas  Francklin  (1721-1784),   Professor  of  Greek  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.     Translator  of  Ltician  and  other  classics.] 

161  M 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

was  well  enough  qualified  to  misrepresent  any  kind 
of  genius. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  I  have  hardly  ever  met,  even  in 
literary  circles,  with  persons  who  knew  anything  of 
Voltaire,  except  through  the  medium  of  these  two 
novels,  and  of  later  school  editions  of  his  two  histories 
of  Charles  the  Twelfth  and  Peter  the  Great :  books 
which  teachers  of  all  sorts  in  his  own  country  have 
been  gradually  compelled  to  admit  into  their  courses 
of  reading  by  national  pride  and  the  imperative 
growth  of  option.  Voltaire  is  one  of  the  three  great 
tragic  writers  of  France,  and  excels  in  pathos  ;  yet 
not  one  Englishman  in  a  thousand  knows  a  syllable 
of  his  tragedies,  or  would  do  anything  but  stare  to 
hear  of  his  pathos.  Voltaire  inducted  his  countrymen 
into  a  knowledge  of  English  science  and  metaphysics, 
nay,  even  of  English  poetry ;  yet  Englishmen  have 
been  told  little  about  him  in  connection  with  them, 
except  of  his  disagreements  wdth  Shakspeare.  Voltaire 
created  a  fashion  for  English  thinking,  manner,  and 
policy,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  simplicity  and  truthful- 
ness of  their  very  Quakers  :  and  yet,  I  will  venture  to 
say,  the  English  knew  far  less  of  all  this  than  they  do 
of  a  licentious  poem  wath  which  he  degraded  his 
better  nature  in  burlesquing  the  history  of  Joan  of 
Arc. 

There  are,  it  is  admitted,  two  sides  to  the  character 
of  Voltaire ;  one  licentious,  merely  scoffing,  sadden- 
ing, defective  in  sentiment,  and  therefore  wanting 
the  inner  clue  of  the  beautiful  to  guide  him  out  of 
the  labyrinth  of  scorn  and  perplexity  ;  all  owing,  be  it 
observed,  to  the  errors  which  he  found  prevailing  in 
his  youth,  and  to  the  impossible  demands  which  they 
made  on  his  acquiescence  ;  but  the  other  side  of  his 
character  is  moral,  cheerful,  beneficent,  prepared  to 
encounter  peril,  nay,  actually  encountering  it,  in  the 
only  true  Christian  causes,  those  of  toleration  and 
charity,  and  raising  that  voice  of  demand  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  reason  and  justice  w^hich  is  now  growing 
into  the  whole  voice  of  Europe.  He  was  the  only  man 
perhaps  that  ever  existed  who  represented  in  his  single 

162 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

person  the  entire  character,  with  one  honourable  excep- 1 
tion  (for  he  was  never  sanguinary),  of  the  nation  in| 
which   he  w^as  born  ;  nay,  of  its  whole  history,  past, , 
present,  and  to  come.     He  had  the  licentiousness  of  the 
old  monarchy  under  w^hich  he  was  bred,  the  cosmop- 
olite   ardour   of    the    Revolution,    the    science    of    the 
Consulate  and  the  "  savans,"  the  unphilosophic  love  of 
glory   of   the  Empire,    the    worldly   wisdom   (without 
pushing  it  into  folly)  of  Louis  Philippe,  and  the  change- 
ful humours,  the  firmness,  the  weakness,  the  flourishing 
declamation,  the  sympathy  w^ith  the  poor,  the  bonhomie^ 
the  unbounded  hopes  of  the  best  actors  in  the  extraor-^ 
dinary   scenes   acted   before    the    eyes    of    Europe    in 
these    last    ten    years.      As     he    himself     could     not 
construct  as  well  as  he  could  pull  down,  so  neither  do 
his  countrymen,  w^ith  all  the  goodness  and  greatness 
among  them,   appear  to   be  less  truly  represented  by 
him  in  that  particular  than  in  others  ;  but  in  pulling 
down  he  had  the  same  vague  desire  of  the  best  that 
could   be  set  up ;    and  when  he  was  most  thought  to 
oppose    Christianity  itself,  he  only  did   it    out    of  an. 
impatient    desire    to   see    the    law    of    love    triumph- 
ant,  and    was  only    thought  to    be    the  adversary  of 
its    spirit,    because   his    revilers    knew   nothing   of    it; 
themselves.  ^ 

Voltaire,  in  an  essay  written  by  himself  in  the  English 
language,  has  said  of  Milton,  in  a  passage  which  would 
do  honour  to  our  best  writers,  that  when  the  poet  saw 
the  Adamo  of  Andre ini  at  Florence,  he  "  pierced  through 
the  absurdity  of  the  plot  to  the  hidden  majesty  of  the 
subject."  It  may  be  said  of  himself,  that  he  pierced 
through  the  conventional  majesty  of  a  great  many 
subjects,  to  the  hidden  absurdity  of  the  plot.  He  laid 
the  axe  to  a  heap  of  savage  abuses  ;  pulled  the  corner- 
stones out  of  dungeons  and  inquisitions  ;  bowed  and 
mocked  the  most  tyrannical  absurdities  out  of  counte- 
nance ;  and  raised  one  prodigious  peal  of  laughter  at 
superstition,  from  Naples  to  the  Baltic.  He  was  the 
first  man  who  got  the  power  of  opinion  and  common 
sense  openly  recognized  as  a  reigning  authority  ;  and 
who  made  the  acknowledgement  of  it  a  point  of  wit 

163 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

and  cunning,  even  with  those  who  had  hitherto  thought 
tliey  had  the  world  to  themselves. 

An  abridgment  that  I  picked  up  of  the  Philosophi- 
cal Dictionary  (a  translation)  ^  was  for  a  long  while 
ray  text-book,  both  for  opinion  and  style.  I  was  also  a 
great  admirer  of  L'Ingenu,  or  the  Sincere  Huron,  and  of 
the  Essay  on  the  Philosophy  of  History.  In  the  char- 
acter of  the  Sincere  Huron  I  thought  I  found  a  resem- 
blance to  my  own,  as  most  readers  do  in  those  of  their 
favourites  :  and  this  piece  of  self-love  helped  me  to 
discover  as  much  good-heartedness  in  Voltaire  as  I  dis- 
cerned wit.  Candide,  I  confess,  I  could  not  like.  I 
enjoyed  passages  ;  but  the  laughter  was  not  as  good- 
humoured  as  usual ;  there  was  a  view  of  things  in  it 
which  I  never  entertained  then  or  afterwards,  and  into 
which  the  author  had  been  led,  rather  in  order  to  pro- 
voke Leibnitz,  than  because  it  was  natural  to  him  ;  and, 
to  crown  my  unwilling  dislike,  the  book  had  a  coarse- 
ness, apart  from  graceful  and  pleasurable  ideas,  w^hich 
I  have  never  been  able  to  endure.  There  were  passages 
in  the  abridgment  of  the  Philosophical  Dictionary 
which  I  always  passed  over  ;  but  the  rest  delighted  me 
beyond  measure.     I  can  repeat  things  out  of  it  now. 

It  must  have  been  about  the  time  of  my  first 
acquaintance  with  Voltaire,  that  I  became  member,  for 
a  short  time,  of  a  club  of  young  men,  who  associated 
for  the  purpose  of  cultivating  public  speaking.  With 
the  exception  of  myself,  I  believe  the  whole  of  them 
were  students  at  law ;  but,  to  the  best  of  my 
recollection,  the  subjects  they  discussed  were  as 
miscellaneous  as  if  they  w^ere  of  no  profession ; 
though  the  case  probably  became  otherwise,  as  their 
powers  advanced.  At  all  events  I  did  not  continue 
long  w^ith  them,  my  entrance  into  the  club  having 
mainly  originated  in  a  wish  to  please  my  friend  Barron 
Field,^  and  public  speaking  not  being  one  of  my  objects 

{'  There  was  an  abridgment  of  the  Philosophical  Dictionary  pub- 
lished in  one  voliune  in  1802.  It  is  described  on  the  title-page  as  "  A 
new  correct  edition  with  notes,  containing  a  refutation  of  such  pas- 
sages as  are  any  way  exceptional  in  regard  to  religion."] 

[*  Barron  Field  (1786-1846),  at  one  time  a  judge  in  the  Supreme 
Court  at  Sydney,  N.S.W.     He  was  the  author  of  some  poetry,  and 

164 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

in  life.  It  might  have  been  much  to  my  benefit  if  it 
had  ;  for  it  would  in  all  probability  have  sooner  rid  me 
of  my  stammering,  and  delivered  me  from  my  fear  of 
it  among  strangers  and  in  the  presence  of  assembled 
audiences ;  an  anxiety,  of  which  I  have  never  been  able 
to  get  rid,  and  which  has  deprived  me  of  serious  ad- 
vantages. Far  different  was  the  case  with  another 
member  of  the  club,  Thomas  Wilde, ^  then  an  attorney 
in  Castle  Street,  Falcon  Square,  afterwards  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, and  a  peer  of  the  realm.  Wilde  had  an  impedi- 
ment in  his  speech,  which  he  inflexibly  determined  to 
mend  :  an  underhung  jaw  and  a  grave  and  fixed  ex- 
pression of  countenance  seemed  constantly  to  picture 
this  resolution  to  me,  as  I  beheld  him.  The  world  has 
seen  how^  well  he  succeeded.  Another  member  of  the 
club,  who  had  no  such  obstacle  to  surmount,  but  who 
might  have  been  diverted  from  success  by  wider  intel- 
lectual sympathies  and  the  very  pleasurableness  of  his 
nature,  conquered  those  perils  by  an  energy  still  more 
admirable,  and  is  the  present  Lord  Chief  Baron  Pollock.^ 
My  friend  Field  himself,  though  suffering  under  a  state 
of  health  w^hich  prevented  his  growing  old,  became  a 
judge  in  the  colonies  ;  and  very  likely  I  should  have 
more  honours  of  the  club  to  refer  to,  had  I  known  it 
longer.  I  can  with  truth  aver,  that  however  much  I 
admired  the  energy  of  Wilde,  and  have  more  than  ad- 
mired that  of  the  Chief  Baron  (of  whose  legal  as  well  as 
general  knowledge,  the  former,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
was  in  the  habit  of  taking  friendly  counsel  to  the  last), 
my  feeling  towards  them,  as  far  as  ambition  was  con- 
cerned, never  degenerated  into  envy.  My  path  was 
chosen  before  I  knew  them ;  my  entire  inclinations 
were  in  it ;  and  I  never  in  my  life  had  any  personal  am- 

the  friend  to  whom  Lamb  inscribed  his  essay,  "  Distant  Correspon- 
dents."] 

[1  Sir  Thomas  Wilde  (1789-1855),  afterwards  Lord  Truro.  He  was 
nominated  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas  in  1846,  and  be- 
came Lord  Chancellor  in  1850,  under  the  administration  of  Lord 
John  Russell.] 

[2  Sir  Frederick  Pollock,  Bart.  (1783-1870).  Twice  Attorney  Gene- 
ral, in  1834  and  1841 ;  he  succeeded  Lord  Abinger  as  Lord  Chief  Baron 
of  the  Court  of  Exchequer  in  1841,  and  on  his  retirement,  in  1866, 
was  created  a  Baronet.] 

165 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

bitioTi  whatsoever,  but  that  of  adding  to  the  list  of 
iiuthors,  and  doing  some  good  as  a  cosmopolite.  Often, 
it  is  true,  when  I  considered  my  family,  have  I  wished 
that  the  case  could  have  been  otherwise,  and  the  cos- 
mopolitism still  not  ineffectual  ;  nor  do  1  mean  to  cast 
the  slightest  reflection  on  the  views,  personal  or  other- 
wise, of  the  many  admirable  and  estimable  men  who 
have  adorned  the  bench  in  our  courts  of  law.  My 
reverence,  indeed,  for  the  character  of  the  British 
judge,  notwithstanding  a  few  monstrous  exceptions  in 
former  times,  and  one  or  two  subsequently  of  a  very 
minor  kind,  is  of  so  deep  a  nature,  that  I  can  never  dis- 
associate the  feeling  from  their  persons,  however  social 
and  familiar  it  may  please  the  most  amiable  of  them  to 
be  in  private.  I  respected  as  well  as  loved  my  dear 
friend  Talfourd  ^  more  and  more  to  the  last ;  entertain 
the  like  sentiments  for  others,  of  whose  acquaintance, 
while  living,  it  would  not  become  me  openly  to  boast ; 
and  believe  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  them  to 
have  done  better  or  more  nobly  for  the  world  as  well  as 
for  themselves,  than  by  obeying  the  inclination  which 
took  them  where  they  ascended.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, it  will  be  considered,  I  trust,  neither  indecorous 
nor  invidious  in  me  if  I  close  these  legal  reminiscences 
with  relating,  that  having,  when  I  was  young,  been 
solemnly  rebuked  one  evening  in  company  by  a  subse- 
quently eminent  person  of  my  own  age,  now^  dead,  and 
of  no  remarkable  orthodoxy,  for  making  what  he  pro- 
nounced to  be  an  irreverent  remark  on  a  disputed  point 
of  Mosaic  history,  I  said  to  a  friend  of  mine  on  coming 

away,  "  Now  mark  me,  B ,  so  and  so  (naming  him) 

will  go  straight  up  the  high  road  to  preferment,  while 
I  shall  as  surely  be  found  in  the  opposite  direction." 
i  Besides  Voltaire  and  the  Connoisseur,  I  was  very  fond 
\  at  that  time  of  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  and  a  great 
I  reader  of  Pope.  My  admiration  of  the  Rape  of  the 
\  Lock  led  me  to  write  a  long  mock-heroic  poem,  entitled 

[^  Sir  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd  (1795-1858)  was  nominated  a  Justice 
of  the  Common  Pleas  in  1848,  and  knighted.  He  was  the  author 
of  several  dramatic  pieces,  and  w^as  one  of  Charles  Lamb's  literary 
executors.    He  died  suddenly  on  the  Bench  while  addressing  a  jury.] 

166 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

the  Battle  of  the  Bridal  Ring,  the  subject  of  which  was 
a  contest  between  two  rival  orders  of  spirits,  on  whom 
to  bestow  a  lady  in  marriage.  I  venture  to  say,  that  it 
would  have  been  well  spoken  of  by  the  critics,  and  was 
not  worth  a  penny.  I  recollect  one  couplet,  which  will 
serve  to  show  how  I  mimicked  the  tone  of  my  author. 
It  was  an  apostrophe  to  Mantua, — 

"  Mantua,  of  great  and  small  the  long  renown, 
That  now  a  Virgil  giv'st,  and  now  a  gown." 

Dryden,  I  read,  too,  but  not  with  that  relish  for  his  | 
nobler  versification  which  I  afterwards  acquired.     To! 
dramatic  reading,  with  all  my  love   of  the  theatre,  l| 
have  already  mentioned  my  disinclination  ;  yet,  in  thej 
interval  of  my  departure  from  school,  and  of  my  get-  5 
ting  out  of  my  teens,  I  wrote  two  farces,  a  comedy  and  j 
a  tragedy  ;  and  the  plots  of  them  all  (such  as  they  were)  | 
w^ere  inventions.   The  hero  of  my  tragedy  was  the  Earl  % 
of  Surrey  (Howard,  the  poet),  who  was  put  to  death  I 
by  Henry  the  Eighth.     I  forget  what  the  comedy  wasf 
upon.     The    title  of  one    of   the   farces   was  the  Beaul 
Miser  which  may  explain  the  nature  of  it.     The  other* 
was  called  A  Hundred  a    Year,    and    turned    upon   a| 
hater  of  the  country,  who,  upon  having  an  annuity  to| 
that  amount  given  him,  on  condition  of  his  never  going; 
out  of  London,  becomes  a  hater  of  the  town.     In  the 
last  scene,  his  annuity  died  a  jovial  death  in  a  country 
tavern  ;    the  bestower  entering  the  room  just  as  my 
hero  had  got  on  a  table,  with  a  glass  in  his  hand,  to 
drink  confusion  to   the  metropolis.      All  these  pieces 
were,  I  doubt  not,  as  bad  as  need  be.     About  thirty 
years  ago,  being  sleepless  one  night  with  a  fit  of  en- 
thusiasm, in  consequence  of  reading  about  the  Spanish 
play  of  the  Cid,  in  Lord  Holland's  Life  of  Guillen  de 
Castro,^  I  determined  to  write  a  tragedy  on  the  same 
subject,  which  was  accepted  at  Drury  Lane.     Perhaps 
the  conduct  of  this  piece  was  not  without  merit,  the 
conclusion  of  each  act  throwing  the  interest  into  the 

[»  Richard  Henry  Vassall  Fox,  3rd  Lord  Holland  (1773-1840).  The 
Life  of  Guillen  de  Castro  was  published  in  1817,  with  a  reprint  of 
Lord  Holland's  Life  of  Lope  de  Vega.] 

167 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

succeeding  one :  but  I  had  great  doubts  of  all  the  rest 
of  it ;  and  on  receiving  it  from  Mr.  Elliston  to  make 
an  alteration  in  the  third  act,  very  judiciously  proposed 
by  him,  I  looked  the  whole  of  the  play  over  again,  and 
convinced  myself  it  was  unfit  for  the  stage.  I  therefore 
withheld  it.  I  had  painted  my  hero  too  after  the  beau- 
ideal  of  a  modern  reformer,  instead  of  the  half-godlike, 
half-bigoted  soldier  that  he  was.  I  began  afterwards 
to  recast  the  play,  but  grew  tired  and  gave  it  up.  The 
Cid  would  make  a  delicious  character  for  the  stage,  or 
in  any  work  ;  not,  indeed,  as  Corneille  declaimed  him, 
nor  as  inferior  writers  might  adapt  him  to  the  reigning 
taste  ;  but  taken,  I  mean,  as  he  was,  with  the  noble  im- 
pulses he  received  from  nature,  the  drawbacks  with 
which  a  bigoted  age  qualified  them,  and  the  social  and 
open-hearted  pleasantry  (not  the  least  evidence  of  his 
nobleness)  w^hich  brings  forth  his  heart,  as  it  were,  in 
flashes  through  the  stern  armour.  But  this  would 
require  a  strong  hand,  and  readers  capable  of  grappling 
with  it.  In  the  mean  time,  they  should  read  of  him  in 
Mr.  Southey's  Chronicle  of  the  Cid  (an  admirable  sum- 
mary from  the  old  Spanish  writers),  and  in  the  delight- 
ful verses  at  the  end  of  it,  translated  from  an  old 
Spanish  poem  by  Mr.  Hookham  Frere,^  with  a  trium- 
phant force  and  fidelity,  that  you  feel  to  be  true  to  the 
original  at  once. 

About  the  period  of  my  writing  the  above  essays,  cir- 
cumstances introduced  me  to  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Bell,^  the  proprietor  of  the  Weekly  Messenger.  In  his 
house  in  the  Strand  I  used  to  hear  of  politics  and  dra- 
matic criticism,  and  of  the  persons  who  wrote  them. 
Mr.  Bell  had  been  well  known  as  a  bookseller,  and  a 
speculator  in  elegant  typography.  It  is  to  him  the 
public  are  indebted  for  the  small  edition  of  the  Poets 
that  preceded  Cooke's,  and  which,  with  all  my  predilec- 
tions for  that  work,  was  unquestionably  superior  to 
it.     Besides,  it   included  Chaucer  and   Spenser.      The 

[1  John  Hookham  Frere  (1769-1S46).  Southey's  book,  which 
appeared  in  1808,  contains  three  of  Frere's  translations.] 

[2  John  Bell  (174&-1831).  Bell  was  also  one  of  the  proprietors  of 
the  Morning  Post.] 

168 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

omission  of  these  in  Cooke's  edition  was  as  unpoetical 
a  sign  of  the  times,  as  the  present  familiarity  with 
their  names  is  the  reverse.  It  was  thought  a  mark  of 
good  sense  : — as  if  good  sense,  in  matters  of  literature, 
did  not  consist  as  much  in  knowing  what  w^as  poetical  in 
poetry,  as  brilliant  in  wit.  Bell  was  upon  the  whole  a 
remarkable  person.  He  was  a  plain  man,  w^ith  a  red 
face,  and  a  nose  exaggerated  by  intemperance  ;  and  yet 
there  was  something  not  unpleasing  in  his  countenance, 
especially  when  he  spoke.  He  had  sparkling  black  eyes,  a 
good-natured  smile,  gentlemanly  manners,  and  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  voices  I  ever  heard.  He  had  no  acquire- 
ments, perhaps  not  even  grammar;  but  his  taste  in 
putting  forth  a  publication,  and  getting  the  best  artists 
to  adorn  it,  was  new  in  those  times,  and  may  be  ad- 
mired in  any  ;  and  the  same  taste  was  observable  in  his 
house.  He  knew  nothing  of  poetry.  He  thought  the 
Delia  Cruscans  ^  fine  people,  because  they  w^ere  known 
in  the  circles  ;  and  for  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  he  had 
the  same  epithet  as  for  Mrs.  Crouch's  face,  or  the  phae- 
ton of  Major  Topham :  he  thought  it  "pretty."  Yet 
a  certain  liberal  instinct,  and  turn  for  large  dealing, 
made  him  include  Chaucer  and  Spenser  in  his  edition ; 
he  got  Stothard  to  adorn  the  one,  and  Mortimer  the 
other ;  and  in  the  midst,  I  suspect,  of  very  equivocal 
returns,  issued  a  British  Theatre  with  embellishments, 
and  a  similar  edition  of  the  plays  of  Shakspeare — the 
incorrectest  publication,  according  to  Mr.  Chalmers, 
that  ever  issued  from  the  press. 

Unfortunately  for  Mr.  Bell,  he  had  as  great  a  taste 
for  neat  wines  and  ankles  as  for  pretty  books  ;  and,  to 
crown  his  misfortunes,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  whotti 
he  was  bookseller,  once  did  him  the  honour  to  partake 
of  an  entertainment,  or  refreshment  (I  forget  w^hich, 
most  probably  the  latter),  at  his  house.  He  afterwards 
became  a  bankrupt.  He  was  one  of  those  men  whose 
temperament  and  turn  of  enjoyment  throw  a  sort  of 

[^  The  Delia  Cruscans  were  a  group  of  poetasters  (mostly  resident 
in  Florence),  which  included  Robert  Merry,  Mrs.  Piozzi  and  Hannah 
Cowley.  The  British  Album  of  1789,  one  of  Bell's  publications, 
contained  much  of  their  work.] 

169 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

jjjrace  over  whatsoever  they  do,  standing  them  in  stead 
of  everything  but  prudence,  and  sometimes  even  sup- 
plying them  with  the  consolations  which  prudence  has 
forfeited.  After  his  bankruptcy  he  set  up  a  newspaper, 
whicli  became  profitable  to  everybody  but  himself.  He 
iiad  become  so  used  to  lawyers  and  bailiffs,  that  the 
more  his  concerns  flourished,  the  more  his  debts  flour- 
ished with  him.  It  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  been 
too  happy  without  them  ;  too  exempt  from  the  cares 
that  beset  the  prudent.  The  first  time  I  saw  him  he 
was  standing  in  a  chemist's  shop,  waiting  till  the  road 
was  clear  for  him  to  issue  forth.  He  had  a  toothache, 
for  which  he  held  a  handkerchief  over  his  mouth ;  and, 
while  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out  with  his  bright  eye,  was 
alternately  groaning  in  a  most  gentlemanly  manner 
over  his  gums,  and  addressing  some  polite  words  to  the 
shopman.  I  had  not  been  introduced  to  him,  and  did 
not  know  his  person  ;  so  that  the  effect  of  his  voice 
upon  me  was  unequivocal.  I  liked  him  for  it,  and 
wished  the  bailiff  at  the  devil.  ^ 

In  the  office  of  the  Weekly  Messenger,  I  saw  one  day 
a  person  who  looked  the  epitome  of  squalid  authorship. 
He  was  wretchedly  dressed  and  dirty;  and  the  rain,  as 
he  took  off  his  hat,  came  away  from  it  as  from  a  spout. 
This  was  a  man  of  the  name  of  Badini,  who  had  been 

;     *  An  intelligent  compositor  (Mr,  J.  P.  S.  Bicknell),  who  has  been 
j|a  noter  of  curious  passages  in  his  time,  informs  me,  that  Bell  was 
*the  first  printer  who  confined  the  small  letter  s  to  its  present  shape, 
jiand  rejected  altogether  the  older  form  /.  He  tells  me,  that  his  inne- 
rvation, besides  the  handsomer  form  of  the  new  letter,  was  "  a  boon 
^  to  both  master-printers  and  the  compositor,  inasmuch  as  it  lessened 
f  the  amount  of  capital  necessary  to  be  laid  out  under  the  old  system, 
and  saved  to  the  workman  no  small  portion  of  his  valuable  time 
and  labour." 

My  informant  adds,  as  a  curious  instance  of  conservative  ten- 
dency on  small  points,  that  Messrs.  Rivington  having  got  as  far-  as 
three  sheets,  on  a  work  of  a  late  Bishop  of  Durham,  in  which  the  new 
plan  had  been  adopted,  the  Bishop  sent  back  the  sheets,  in  order  to 
have  the  old  letter  restored,  which  compelled  the  booksellers  to  get 
a  new  supply  from  the  type-foundry,  the  fount  containing  the 
venerable /having  been  thrown  away. 

Mr.  Bicknell  also  informs  me,  that  when  Bell  set  up  his  news- 
paper, the  Weekly  Messenger  (which  had  a  wood-cut  at  the  top  of  it, 
of  a  newsman  blowing  his  horn),  he  is  said  to  have  gone  to  masquer- 
ade in  the  newsman's  character,  and  distributed  prospectuses  to  the 
company. 

170 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

poet  at  the  Opera,  and  was  then  editor  of  the  Messenger.] 
He  was  afterwards  sent  out  of  the  country  under  thej 
Alien  Act,  and  became  reader  of  the  English  papers] 
to  Bonaparte.     His   intimacy   w^ith    some    of   the  first  ^ 
families  in  the  country,  among  whom  he  had  been  a; 
teacher,  is  supposed  to  have  been  of  use  to  the  French  | 
Government.    He  wrote  a  good  idiomatic  English  style,  | 
and  was  a  man  of  abilities.     I  had  never  before  seen  a  % 
poor  author,  such  as  are  described  in  books  ;  and    the  :i 
spectacle  of  the  reality  startled  me.  Like  most  authors,  | 
however,  who  are  at  once  very  poor  and  very  clever,  ^! 
his  poverty  was  his  own  fault.     When  he  received  any  | 
money  he  disappeared,  and  was  understood  to  spend  it  ;| 
in  alehouses.       We    heard    that  in   Paris    he  kept  his  | 
carriage.     I  have  since  met  with  authors  of  the  same  | 
squalid  description  ;    but  they  were  destitute  of  ability,  i. 
and  had  no  more  right  to  profess  literature  as  a  trade  v 
than  alchemy.       It  is    from    these  that   the    common  | 
notions  about  the  tribe  are  taken.      One  of  them,  poor  | 
fellow  !  might  have  cut  a  figure  in  Smollett.    He  was  a  | 
proper  ideal  author,  in    rusty  black,    out    at    elbows,  | 
thin  and  pale.     He  brought  me  an  ode  about  an  eagle  ;  | 
for  which  the  publisher  of  a  magazine,  he  said,  had  had  | 
the  "  inhumanity  "  to  offer  him  half-a-crown.  His  neces-  ■), 
sity  for  money  he  did  not  deny  ;  but  his  great  anxiety  | 
was  to  know  whether,  as  a  poetical  composition,  his  ode  J 
was  not  worth  more.     "  Is  that  poetry,  sir?"  cried  he  :  I 
"  that's  what  I  want  to  know — is  t\isit poetry?"  rising  | 
from  his  chair,  and  staring  and  trembling  in  all  the  | 
agony  of  contested  excellence.  '* 

My  brother  John,  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  1805, 
set  up  a  paper,  called  the  Neivs,  and  I  went  to  live  with 
him  in  Brydges  Street,  and  write  the  theatricals  in  it. 

[Between  quitting  the  Bluecoat  School,  and  the  es- 
tablishment of  the  Neivs,  Leigh  Hunt  had  been  for 
some  time  in  the  law  office  of  his  brother  Stephen. — 
T.  H.] 

It  was  the  custom  at  that  time  for  editors  of  papers 
to  be  intimate  with  actors  and  dramatists.  They  were 
often  proprietors,  as  well  as  editors  ;  and,  in  that  case, 
it  was  not  expected  that  they  should  escape  the  usual 

171 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

j  intercourse,  or  wish  to  do  so.  It  was  thought  a  feather 
I  in  the  cap  of  all  parties  ;  and  with  their  feathers  they 
I  tickled  one  another.  The  newspaper  man  had  conse- 
'  quence  in  the  green-room,  and  plenty  of  tickets  for  his 
friends  ;  and  he  dined  at  amusing  tables.  The  drama- 
tist secured  a  good-natured  critique  in  his  journal, 
sometimes  got  it  w^ritten  himself,  or,  according  to  Mr. 
Reynolds,^  was  even  himself  the  author  of  it.  The 
actor,  if  he  was  of  any  eminence,  stood  upon  the  same 
ground  of  reciprocity ;  and  not  to  know  a  pretty 
actress  would  have  been  a  want  of  the  knowing  in 
general.  Upon  new  performers,  and  upon  writers  not 
yet  introduced,  a  journalist  was  more  impartial  ;  and 
sometimes,  where  the  proprietor  w^as  in  one  interest 
more  than  another,  or  for  some  personal  reason  grew 
offended  with  an  actor,  or  set  of  actors,  a  criticism 
would  occasionally  be  hostile,  and  even  severe.  An 
editor,  too,  would  now  and  then  suggest  to  his  em- 
ployer the  policy  of  exercising  a  freer  authority,  and 
obtain  influence  enough  with  him  to  show  symptoms 
of  it.  I  believe  Bell's  editor,  who  was  more  clever,  was 
also  more  impartial  than  most  critics  ;  though  the  pub- 
lisher of  the  British  Theatre,  and  patron  of  the  Delia 
Cruscans,  must  have  been  hampered  with  literary  inti- 
macies. The  best  chance  for  an  editor,  who  wished  to 
have  anything  like  an  opinion  of  his  own,  was  the 
appearance  of  a  rival  newspaper  with  a  strong  theatri- 
cal connection.  Influence  was  here  threatened  with 
diminution.  It  was  to  be  held  up  on  other  grounds ; 
and  the  critic  was  permitted  to  find  out  that  a  bad 
play  was  not  good,  or  an  actress's  petticoat  of  the  law- 
ful dimensions. 

Puffing  and  plenty  of  tickets  were,  however,  the 
isystem  of  the  day.  It  was  an  interchange  of  amenities 
over  the  dinner-table  ;  a  flattery  of  power  on  the  one 
side,  and  puns  on  the  other  ;  and  what  the  public  took 
for  a  criticism  on  a  play  was  a  draft  upon  the  box- 
'  office,  or  reminiscences  of  last  Thursday's  salmon  and 
lobster-sauce.      The  custom  was,  to  write  as  short  and 

['  Frederic  Reynolds  (17&4-1841),  dramatist,  said  to  have  composed 
nearly  one  hundred  tragedies  and  comedies.] 

172 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

as  favourable  a  paragraph  on  the  new  piece  as  could  | 
be;  to  say  that  Bannister  was  "  excellent "  and  Mrs.  • 
Jordan  "charming";  to  notice  the  "crowded  house"; 
or  invent  it,  if  necessary  ;  and  to  conclude  by  observing' 
that  "  the  whole  went  off  with  eclat.''  For  the  rest,  itf 
was  a  critical  religion  in  those  times  to  admire  Mr.r 
Kemble  :  and  at  the  period  in  question  Master  Betty  ^  ■ 
had  appeared,  and  been  hugged  to  the  hearts  of  the  I 
tow^n  as  the  young  Roscius.  I 

We  saw  that  independence  in  theatrical  criticism? 
would  be  a  great  novelty.  We  announced  it,  and  no- • 
body  believed  us  ;  we  stuck  to  it,  and  the  town  believed 
everything  we  said.  The  proprietors  of  the  News,  of 
whom  I  knew  so  little  that  I  cannot  recollect  with  cer-.; 
tainty  any  one  of  them,  very  handsomely  left  me  tof 
myself.  My  retired  and  scholastic  habits  kept  me  so  i 
and  the  pride  of  Success  confirmed  my  independence 
with  regard  to  others.  I  was  then  in  my  twentieth 
year,  an  early  age  at  that  time  for  a  writer.  The 
usual  exaggeration  of  report  made  me  younger  than  I- 
was :  and  after  being  a  "  young  Roscius "  political,  I: 
was  now  looked  upon  as  one  critical.  To  know^  an 
actor  personally  appeared  to  me  a  vice  not  to  be' 
thought  of ;  and  I  would  as  lief  have  taken  poison  as.; 
accepted  a  ticket  from  the  theatres.  | 

Good  God  !     To  think  of  the  grand  opinion  I  had  off 
myself  in  those  days,  and  what  little  reason  I  had  for  ; 
it !     Not  to  accept  the  tickets  was  very  proper,  con- 1 
sidering    that   I    bestowed   more   blame    than    praise.' 
There  was  also  more  good-nature  than  I  supposed  in 
not   allowing  myself   to    know    any   actors  ;    but    the 
vanity  of  my  position  had  greater  weight  with  me  than 
anything  else,  and  I  must  have  proved  it  to  discerning 
eyes  by  the  small  quantity  of  information  I  brought  to , 
my  task,  and  the  ostentation  with  which  I  produced  it.. 
I  knew    almost  as   little  of    the  drama  as  the  young? 

['  William  Henry  West  Betty  (1791-1874)  made  his  appearance  on 
the  stage  at  the  age  of  eleven,  and  for  some  five  years  he  enjoyed 
great  popularity.  He  quitted  the  stage  for  a  time  to  study  at 
Cambridge,  but  afterwards  returned  in  1812  and  finally  retired 
twelve  years  later.] 

173 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

.  Hosc'ius  himself.  Luckily,  I  had  tho  advantage  of  him 
ill  knowing  how  unfit  he  was  for  his  office  ;  and,  pro- 
(bably,  he  thought  lue  as  much  so,  though  he  could  not 
^liave  argued  upon  it;  for  I  was  in  the  minority  re- 
specting his  merits,  and  the  balance  was  then  trembling 
on  the  beam ;  the  Neics,  I  believe,  hastened  the  settle- 
ment of  the  question.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  we 
had  let  him  alone,  and  he  had  got  a  little  more  money. 
However,  he  obtained  enough  to  create  him  a  provision 
for  life.  His  position,  which  appeared  so  brilliant  at 
first,  had  a  remarkable  cruelty  in  it.  Most  men  begin 
life  with  struggles,  and  have  their  vanity  sufficiently 
knocked  about  the  head  and  shoulders  to  make  their 
kinder  fortunes  the  more  welcome.  Mr.  Betty  had  his 
sugar  first,  and  his  physic  afterwards.  He  began  life 
'  with  a  double  childhood,  with  a  new  and  extraordinary 
■felicity  added  to  the  natural  enjoyments  of  his  age ; 
^|:and  he  lived  to  see  it  speedily  come  to  nothing,  and  to 
f be  taken  for  an  ordinary  person.  I  am  told  that  he 
"acquiesces  in  his  fate,  and  agrees  that  the  town  were 
mistaken.  If  so,  he  is  no  ordinary  person  still,  and  has 
as  much  right  to  our  respect  for  his  good  sense,  as  he 
is  declared  on  all  hands  to  deserve  it  for  his  amiable- 
ness.  I  have  an  anecdote  of  him  to  both  purposes, 
which  exhibits  him  in  a  very  agreeable  light.  Hazlitt 
happened  to  be  at  a  party  where  Mr.  Betty  was  pre- 
sent ;  and  in  coming  away,  when  they  were  all  putting 
on  their  great-coats,  the  critic  thought  fit  to  compli- 
ment the  dethroned  favourite  of  the  town,  by  telling 
him  that  he  recollected  him  in  old  times,  and  had  been 
"  much  pleased  with  him."  Betty  looked  at  his  me- 
morialist, as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  don't  tell  me  so  !  " 
and  then  starting  into  a  tragical  attitude,  exclaimed, 
*'  Oh,  memory  !  memory  !  " 

I  was  right  about  Master  Betty,  and  I  am  sorry  for 
it ;  though  the  town  was  in  fault,  not  he.  I  think  I 
was  right  also  about  Kemble ;  but  I  have  no  regret 
upon  that  score.  He  flourished  long  enough  after 
my  attack  on  his  majestic  dryness  and  deliberate 
nothings ;  and  Kean  ^  would  have  taken  the  public 
['  Edmund  Kean  (1787-1833).     His  introduction  to  the  stage  took 

174 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

by  storm,  whether  they  had  been  prepared    for  him  , 

or  not :  > 

l 
"  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin.  * 

Kemble  faded  before  him,    Hke   a   tragedy  ghost.      I  ] 
never  denied  the  merits  which  that  actor  possessed.   ■ 
He  had  the  look  of  a  Roman ;  made  a  very  good  ideal,  1 
though  not  a  very  real  Coriolanus,  for  his  pride  was  ' 
not  sufficiently  blunt  and  unaffected  :  and  in  parts  that  ', 
suited  his  natural  deficiency,  such  as  Penruddock  and  • 
the  Abbe  de  I'Epee,  would  have  been  altogether  admir- 
able and  interesting,  if  you  could  have  forgotten  that 
their  sensibility,  in  his    hands,   was   not  so  much  re- 
pressed, as  wanting.     He  was  no  more  to  be  compared 
to  his  sister,  than  stone  is  to  flesh  and  blood.     There 
was  much  of  the  pedagogue  in  him.      He  made  a  fuss 
about  trifles ;  was  inflexible  on  a  pedantic  reading :  in 
short,  was  rather  a  teacher  of  elocution  than  an  actor  ; 
and  not  a  good  teacher,  on  that  account.     There  was  a 
merit  in  his  idealism,  as  far  as  it  went.     He  had,  at 
least,  faith  in  something  classical  and  scholastic,  and  he 
made  the  town  partake  of  it ;  but  it  was  all  on  the  sur- 
face— a  hollow  trophy  :  and  I  am  persuaded,  that  he 
had  no  idea  in  his  head  but  of  a  stage  Roman,  and  the 
dignity  he  added  to  his  profession.  i 

But  if  I  was  right  about  Kemble,  whose  admirers  I  ( 
plagued  enough,  I  was  not  equally  so  about  the  living  i- 
dramatists,  whom  I  plagued  more.      I  laid  all  the  defi-  j 
ciencies  of   the   modern  drama    to  their  account,  and 
treated   them   like    a    parcel  of  mischievous  boys,    of  ,J 
whom  I  was  the  schoolmaster  and  whipper-in.      I  for-  f 
got  that  it  was  I  who  was  the  boy,  and  that  they  knew 
twenty  times  more  of  the  world  than  I  did.     Not  that 
I  mean  to  say  their  comedies   were  excellent,  or  that  ', 
my  commonplaces  about  the  superior  merits  of  Con-  ' 
greve  and  Sheridan  were  not  well  founded  ;    but  there 
was  more   talent  in  their  "  five-act  farce  "  than  I  sup- 
posed ;  and  I  mistook,  in  a  great  measure,  the  defect  of 

place  at  an  early  age,  but  his  first  appearance  at  a  London  theatre 
was  at  Drury  Lane  in  1814.] 

175 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

the  age— its  dearth  of  dramatic  character — for  that  of 
the  writers  who  were  to  draw  upon  it.  It  is  true,  a 
great  wit,  by  a  hiborious  process,  and  the  help  of  his 
acquirements,  might  extract  a  play  or  two  from  it, 
as  was  Sheridan's  own  case  ;  but  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  imitation  even  in  Sheridan,  and  he  w^as  fain 
to  help  himself  to  a  little  originality  out  of  the  char- 
acters of  his  less  formalized  countrymen,  his  own  in- 
cluded. 
;  It  is  remarkable,  that  the  three  most  amusing  dra- 
matists of  the  last  age,  Sheridan,  Goldsmith,  and 
O'Keefe,  were  all  Irishmen,  and  all  had  characters  of 
tlieir  own.  Sheridan,  after  all,  was  Swift's  Sheridan  ^ 
come  to  life  again  in  the  person  of  his  grandson,  with 
the  oratory  of  Thomas  Sheridan,  the  father,  superadded 
and  brought  to  bear.  Goldsmith,  at  a  disadvantage  in 
his  breeding,  but  full  of  address  with  his  pen,  drew^ 
upon  his  own  absurdities  and  mistakes,  and  filled  his 
dramas  with  ludicrous  perplexity.  O'Keefe  was  all  for 
whim  and  impulse,  but  not  without  a  good  deal  of  con- 
science ;  and,  accordingly,  in  his  plays  we  have  a  sort 
of  young  and  pastoral  taste  of  life  in  the  very  midst  of 
his  sophistications.  Animal  spirits,  quips  and  cranks, 
credulity,  and  good  intention,  are  triumphant  through- 
out and  make  a  delicious  mixture.  It  is  a  great  credit 
to  O'Keefe,  that  he  ran  sometimes  close  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  the  sentimental  drama,  and  did  it  not  only  with 
impunity  but  advantage  ;  but  sprightliness  and  sincer- 
ity enable  a  man  to  do  everything  with  advantage. 

It  was  a  pity  that  as  much  could  not  be  said  of  Mr. 
Colman,  w^ho,  after  taking  more  licence  in  his  w^ritings 
than  anybody,  became  a  licenser  ex  officio,  and  seemed 
inclined  to  license  nothing  but  cant.  When  this  writer 
got  into  the  sentimental,  he  made  a  sad  business  of  it, 
for  he  had  no  faith  in  sentiment.  He  mouthed  and 
overdid  it,  as  a  man  does  when  he  is  telling  a  lie.  At 
a  farce  he  was  admirable :  and  he  remained  so  to  the 
last,  whether  writing  or  licensing. 

['  Thomas  Sheridan,  D.D.  (1684-1738).  His  son,  also  Thomas  Sheri- 
dan, is  mentioned  in  the  note  on  p.  10  ante — the  grandson  was  of 
course  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  (1751-1816).] 

176 


ESSAYS   IN   CRITICISM 

Morton  seemed  to  take  a  colour  from  the  writers  all 
round  him,  especially  from  O'Keefe  and  the  sentiment- 
alists. His  sentiment  was  more  in  earnest  than  Col- 
man's,  yet,  somehow,  not  happy  either.  There  was  a 
gloom  in  it,  and  a  smack  of  the  Old  Bailey.  It  was 
best  when  he  put  it  in  a  shape  of  humour,  as  in  the 
paternal  and  inextinguishable  tailorism  of  Old  Rapid, 
in  a  Cu7'e  for'  the  Heart-Ache.  Young  Rapid,  w^ho  com- 
plains that  his  father  "  sleeps  so  slow,"  is  also  a  plea- 
sant fellow,  and  worthy  of  O'Keefe.  He  is  one  of  the 
numerous  crop  that  sprang  up  from  Wild  Oats,  but  not 
in  so  natural  a  soil. 

The  character  of  the  modern  drama  at  that  time  was 
singularly  commercial  :  nothing  but  gentlemen  in  dis- 
tress, and  hard  landlords,  and  generous  interferers,  and 
fathers  who  got  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  sons  w^ho 
spent  it.  I  remember  one  play  in  particular,  in  w^hich 
the  whole  wit  ran  upon  prices,  bonds,  and  post-obits. 
You  might  know  what  the  pit  thought  of  their  pound- 
notes  by  the  ostentatious  indifference  with  w^hich  the 
heroes  of  the  pieces  gave  them  away,  and  the  admira- 
tion and  pretended  approval  with  which  the  spectators 
observed  it.  To  make  a  present  of  a  hundred  pounds 
was  as  if  a  man  had  uprooted  and  given  away  an 
Egyptian  pyramid. 

Mr.  Reynolds  was  not  behindhand  with  his  brother 
dramatists  in  drawing  upon  the  taste  of  the  day  for 
gains  and  distresses.  It  appears  by  his  Memoirs  that 
he  had  too  much  reason  for  so  doing.  He  was,  per- 
haps, the  least  ambitious,  and  the  least  vain  (whatever 
charges  to  the  contrary  his  animal  spirits  might  have 
brought  on  him)  of  all  the  writers  of  that  period.  In 
complexional  vivacity  he  certainly  did  not  yield  to  any 
of  them ;  his  comedies,  if  they  were  fugitive,  were 
genuine  representations  of  fugitive  manners,  and  went 
merrily  to  their  death ;  and  there  is  one  of  them,  the 
Dramatist,  founded  upon  something  more  lasting, 
which  promises  to  remain  in  the  collections,  and  de- 
serves it :  which  is  not  a  little  to  say  of  any  writer.  I 
never  wish  for  a  heartier  laugh  than  I  have  enjoyed, 
since  I  grew  wiser,  not  only  in  seeing,  but  in  reading 

177  N 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

the  vagaries  of  his  dramatic  hero,  and  his  mystifica- 
tions of  "  Old  Scratch."  When  I  read  the  good- 
Imiuoured  Memoirs  of  this  writer  the  other  day,  I  felt 
quite  ashamed  of  the  ignorant  and  boyish  way  in 
which  I  used  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  his  faults,  with- 
out being  aware  of  what  was  good  in  him ;  and  my 
repentance  was  increased  by  the  very  proper  manner 
in  which  he  speaks  of  his  critics,  neither  denying  the 
truth  of  their  charges  in  letter,  nor  admitting  them 
altogether  in  spirit ;  in  fact,  showing  that  he  knew 
very  well  what  he  was  about,  and  that  they,  whatso- 
ever they  fancied  to  the  contrary,  did  not. 

Mr.  Reynolds,  agreeably  to  his  sense  and  good- 
humour,  never  said  a  word  to  his  critics  at  the  time. 
Mr.  Thomas  Dibdin,^  not  quite  so  wise,  wrote  me  a 
letter,  which  Incledon,^  I  am  told,  remonstrated  with 
him  for  sending,  saying,  it  would  do  him  no  good  with 

the  "  d d  boy."     And  he  was  right.     I  published  it, 

with  an  answer,  and  only  thought  that  I  made  dra- 
matists "  come  bow  to  me."  Mr.  Colman  attacked  me 
in  a  prologue,  which,  by  a  curious  chance,  Fawcett 
spoke  right  in  my  teeth,  the  box  I  sat  in  happening  to 
be  directly  opposite  him.  I  laughed  at  the  prologue  ; 
and  only  looked  upon  Mr.  Colman  as  a  great  monkey 
pelting  me  with  nuts,  which  I  ate.  Attacks  of  this 
kind  were  little  calculated  to  obtain  their  end  with  a 
youth  w^ho  persuaded  himself  that  he  wrote  for  nothing 
but  the  public  good;  who  mistook  the  impression 
which  anybody  of  moderate  talents  can  make  with  a 
newspaper,  for  the  result  of  something  peculiarly  his 
own  ;  and  w4io  had  just  enough  scholarship  to  despise 
the  want  of  it  in  others.  I  do  not  pretend  to  think 
that  the  criticisms  in  the  News  had  no  merit  at  all. 
They  showed  an  acquaintance  vdth  the  style  of  Vol- 
taire, Johnson,  and  others ;  were  not  unagreeably 
sprinkled  with  quotation ;  and,  above  all,  were  written 
with  more  care  and  attention  than  was  customary  with 

[1  Thomas  Dibdin  (1771-1841)  was  the  son  of  Charles  Dibdin  the 
song  writer.  He  was  the  author  of  numeroiis  comedies  and  dra- 
matic pieces.] 

[-  Benjamin  Charles  Incledon  (1764-1826),  a  popular  vocalist.] 

178 


ESSAYS  IN   CRITICISM 

newspapers  at  that  time.  The  pains  I  took  to  round  a 
period  with  nothing  in  it,  or  to  invent  a  simile  that 
should  appear  offhand,  would  have  done  honour  to 
better  stuff. 

A  portion  of  these  criticisms  subsequently  formed 
the  appendix  of  an  original  volume  on  the  same  sub- 
ject, entitled  Critical  Essays  on  the  Performers  of  the 
London  Theatres  [1807].^  I  have  the  book  now  before 
me  :  and  if  I  thought  it  had  a  chance  of  survival  I 
should  regret  and  qualify  a  good  deal  of  uninformed 
judgment  in  it  respecting  the  art  of  acting,  which,  with 
much  inconsistent  recommendation  to  the  contrary,  it 
too  often  confounded  with  a  literal,  instead  of  a  liberal 
imitation  of  nature.  I  particularly  erred  with  respect 
to  comedians  like  Munden,  whose  superabundance  of 
humour  and  expression  I  confounded  with  farce  and 
buffoonery.     Charles  Lamb  taught  me  better. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth,  however,  mixed  up  | 
with  these  mistakes.      One   of  the   things  on  which  I| 
was  always  harping  was  Kemble's  vicious  pronunciaT^ 
tion.     Kemble   had   a   smattering   of   learning,  and   a| 
great  deal  of  obstinacy.    He  was  a  reader  of  old  books  ;| 
and   having   discovered   that   pronunciation    had    not| 
always  been  what   it   was,   and  that   in   one    or   two| 
instances  the  older  was  metrically  better  than  the  new| 
(as  in  the  case  of  the  word  aches,  which  was  originally| 
a  dissyllable — aitches),  he  took  upon  him  to  reform  it  in| 
a    variety   of    cases,    where   propriety   was   as    mucm 
against  him  as  custom.     Thus  the  vowel  e  in  the  word 
"  merchant,"  in  defiance  of  its  Latin  etymology,  he  in- 
sisted upon  pronouncing  according  to  its  French  deri- 

['  Critical  Essays  on  the  Performers  of  the  London  Theatres,  irv- 
cluding  general  observations  on  the  Practice  and  Genius  of  the  Stage. 
By  the  author  of  the  theatrical  criticisms  in  the  weekly  paper  called 
the  News  .  .  .  London,  Printed  by  and  for  John  Hunt,  at  the  office 
of  the  News,  28,  Brydges  Street,  Strand,  1807.  8vo.  In  an  "  adver- 
tisement" to  this  book  Hunt  says,  "  It  was  not  till  after  the  title- 
page  of  the  present  work  had  been  engraved  that  the  author  had 
any  intentions  of  quitting  the  News,  but  he  now  writes  exclusively 
for  the  paper  called  the  Examiner,  of  which  the  reader  may  see  a 
prospectus  at  the  end  of  the  volume."  The  prospectus  states  that  the 
first  number  appeared  on  January  3,  1808,  so  it  is  to  be  inferred 
that  the  volume  of  Critical  Essays  was  published  after  the  date  on 
the  title-page.] 

179 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

vative,  marchayit.  "Innocent"  he  called  innocint  ; 
*'  conscience  "  (in  defiance  even  of  his  friend  Chaucer), 
con,shincc:  "  virtue,"  in  proper  slip-slop,  rarc^ite ;  "fierce," 
fursc  :  "  heard,"  bird :  "  thy,"  the  (because  we  generally 
call  '*  my,"  me)  ;  and  "  odious,"  "  hideous,"  and  "  perfi- 
dious," became  ojUs,  hijjus,  perfijjus.^ 

Nor  were  these  all.     The  following   banter,  in  the 
shape  of  an  imaginary  bit  of  conversation  between  an 
vofficer  and  his  friend,  was,  literally,  no  caricature  : — 

A.  Ha!  captain!  how  dost?  The^  appearance  would  be  much 
improved  by  a  little  more  attention  to  the  bird.^ 

B.  Why,  so  I  think  :  there's  no  sentimint*  in  a,bird.  But  then  it 
serves  to  distinguish  a  soldier,  and  there  is  no  doubt  much  military 
varchue^  in  looking  furful.^ 

A.  But  the  girls,  Jack,  the  girls  !  Why,  the  mouth  is  enough  to 
banish  kissing  from  the  airth''  etaimally.^ 

B.  In  maircy,^  no  more  of  that!  Zounds,  but  the  shopkeepers 
and  the  marchants '"  will  get  the  better  of  us  with  the  dear  souls  ! 
However,  as  it  is  now  against  military  law  to  have  a  tender  coun- 
tenance, and  as  some  birds,  I  thank  heaven,  are  of  a  tolerable 
qual-ity,^^  I  must  make  a  varchue  of  necessity  ;  and  as  I  can't  look 
soft  for  the  love  of  my  girl,  I  must  e'en  look  hijjiis  '^  for  the  love  of 
my  country. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

[1805-1807] 

BUT  the  gay  and  confident  spirit  in  which  I  began 
this  critical  career  received  a  check,  of  which  none 
of  my  friends  suspected  the  anguish,  and  very  few  were 
told.  I  fell  into  a  melancholy  state  of  mind,  produced 
by  ill-health. 

I  thought  it  was  owing  to  living  too  well ;  and  as  I 
had  great  faith  in  temperance,  I  went  to  the  reverse 
extreme ;    not    considering    that    temperance   implies 

[^  These  remarks  concerning  Kemble's  pronunciation  are  con- 
tained in  the  Critical  Essays,  p.  2  of  the  Appendix.] 

2  Thy.  3  Beard.  *  Sentiment.  *  Virtue.  «  Fearful.        ,_ 

'  Earth.  «  Eternally.  »  Mercy.  »<>  Merchants.  jl 

"  Quality  (with  the  a  as  in  universality).  '^  Hideous. 

180 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

moderation  in  self-denial  as  well  as  in  self-indulgence.^ 
The  consequence  was  a  nervous  condition,  amounting 
to  hypochondria,  which  lasted  several  months.  I  exj 
perienced  it  twice  afterwards,  each  time  more  pain*^ 
fully  than  before,  and  for  a  much  longer  period  ;  but  I 
have  never  had  it  since  ;  and  I  am  of  opinion  that  I  need 
not  have  had  it  at  all  had  I  gone  at  once  to  a  physician, 
and  not  repeated  the  mistake  of  being  over  abstinent.  | 
I  mention  the  whole  circumstance  for  the  benefit  of 
others.  The  first  attack  came  on  me  with  palpitations 
of  the  heart.  These  I  got  rid  of  by  horseback.  I  for- 
get what  symptoms  attended  the  approach  of  the 
second.  The  third  was  produced  by  sitting  out  of  doors 
too  early  in  the  spring.  I  attempted  to  outstarve  them 
all,  but  egregiously  failed.  In  one  instance,  I  took 
wholly  to  a  vegetable  diet,  which  made  me  so  weak  and 
giddy,  that  I  was  forced  to  catch  hold  of  rails  in  the 
streets  to  hinder  myself  from  falling.  In  another,  I 
confined  myself  for  some  weeks  to  a  milk  diet,  which 
did  nothing  but  jaundice  my  complexion.  In  the  third, 
I  took  a  modicum  of  meat,  one  glass  of  wine,  no  milk 
except  in  tea,  and  no  vegetables  at  all  ;  but  though  I 
did  not  suffer  quite  so  much  mental  distress  from  this 
regimen  as  from  the  milk,  I  suffered  more  than  from 
the  vegetables,  and  for  a  much  longer  period  than  with 
either.  To  be  sure,  I  continued  it  longer  ;  and,  perhaps^ 
it  gave  me  greater  powers  of  endurance ;  but  for 
upwards  of  four  years,  without  intermission,  and  above 
six  years  in  all,  I  underw^ent  a  burden  of  w^retchedness 
which  I  afterwards  felt  convinced  I  need  not  have 
endured  for  as  many  weeks,  perhaps  not  as  many  daySji 
had  I  not  absurdly  taken  to  the  extreme  I  spoke  of  in 
the  first  instance,  and  then  as  absurdly  persisted  irt 
seeking  no  advice,  partly  from  fear  of  hearing  worse 
things  foretold  me,  and  partly  from  a  hope  of  wearing 
out  the  calamity  by  patience.  At  no  time  did  my 
friends  guess  to  what  amount  I  suffered.  They  saw 
that  my  health  was  bad  enough,  and  they  condoled  with 
me  accordingly ;  but  cheerful  habits  enabled  me  to 
retain  an  air  of  cheerfulness,  except  when  I  was  alone  ; 
and  I  never  spoke  of  it  but  once,  which  was  to  my 

181 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

frierul  Mitchell,  whom  I  guessed  to  have  undergone 
somothing  of  the  kind. 

And  what  was  it  that  I  suffered?  and  on  what 
account?  On  no  account.  On  none  whatsoever,  ex- 
cept niy  ridiculous  super-abstinence,  and  my  equally 
ridiculous  avoidance  of  speaking  about  it.  The  very 
fact  of  having  no  cause  whatsoever,  was  the  thing  that 
most  frightened  me.  I  thought  that  if  I  had  but  a 
cause,  the  cause  might  have  been  removed  or  palliated  ; 
but  to  be  haunted  by  a  ghost  which  was  not  even 
ghostly,  which  was  something  I  never  saw,  nor  could 
even  imagine,  this,  I  thought,  was  the  most  terrible 
thing  that  could  befall  me.  I  could  see  no  end  to  the 
persecutions  of  an  enemy,  who  was  neither  visible  nor 
even  existing ! 

Causes  for  suffering,  however,  came.  Not,  indeed, 
the  worst,  for  I  was  neither  culpable  nor  superstitious. 
I  had  WTonged  nobody ;  and  I  now  felt  the  inestimable 
benefit  of  having  had  cheerful  opinions  given  me  in 
religion.  But  I  plagued  myself  with  things  which  are 
the  pastimes  of  better  states  of  health,  and  the  pursuits 
of  philosophers.  I  mooted  with  myself  every  point  of 
metaphysics  that  could  get  into  a  head  into  which  they 
had  never  been  put.  I  made  a  cause  of  causes  for 
anxiety,  by  inquiring  into  causation,  and  outdid  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield's  Moses,  in  being  my  own  Sancho- 
niathan  and  Berosus  on  the  subject  of  the  cosmogony  ! 
I  jest  about  it  now ;  but  oh  !  what  pain  was  it  to  me 
then  !  and  what  pangs  of  biliary  will  and  impossibility 
I  underwent  in  the  endeavour  to  solve  these  riddles  of 
the  universe !  I  felt,  long  before  I  knew  Mr.  Words- 
worth's poetry, — 

"  the  burthen  and  the  mystery 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world." 

I  reverence  the  mystery  still,  but  I  no  longer  feel  the 
burden,  because  for  these  five-and-thirty  years  I  have 
known  how  to  adjust  my  shoulders  to  it  by  taking  care 
of  my  health.  I  should  rather  say  because  healthy 
shoulders  have  no  such  burden  to  carry.  The  elements 
of  existence,  like  the  air  which  we  breathe,  and  which 

182 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

would  otherwise  crush  us,  are  so  nicely  proportioned  to  J 
one  another   w^ithin   and  around    them,   that   we   are  | 
unconsciously    sustained    by    them,    not    thoughtfully  < 
oppressed.  '^ 

One  great  benefit,  however,  resulted  to  me  from  this  | 
suffering.     It  gave  me  an  amount  of  reflection,  such  as  | 
in  all  probability  I  never  should  have  had  without  it ;  | 
and  if  readers  have  derived  any  good  from  the  graver  | 
portion  of  my  writings,  I  attribute  it  to  this  experience  I 
of  evil.     It  taught  me  patience  ;  it  taught  me  charitys 
(however  imperfectly  I  may  have  exercised  either) ;  it 
taught  me  charity  even  towards  myself ;  it  taught  me 
the  worth  of  little  pleasures,  as  well  as  the  dignity  and 
utility  of  great  pains  ;  it  taught  me  that  evil  itself  con- 
tained good  ;  nay,  it  taught  me  to  doubt  whether  any | 
such  thing  as  evil,  considered  in  itself,  existed  ;  whether 
things   altogether,  as  far  as   our  planet  knows  them, 
could  have  been  so  good  without  it ;  whether  the  desire, 
nevertheless,  which  nature  has  implanted  in  us  for  its 
destruction,  be  not  the  signal  and  the  means  to  that 
end ;   and    whether   its    destruction,    finally,    will  not 
prove   its   existence,   in  the   meantime,    to  have  been 
necessary  to  the  very  bliss  that  supersedes  it.  i: 

I  have  been  thus  circumstantial  respecting  thist 
illness,  or  series  of  illnesses,  in  the  hope  that  such- 
readers  as  have  not  had  experience  or  reflection  enough  • 
of  their  own  to  dispense  with  the  lesson,  may  draw  the 
following  conclusions  from  sufferings  of  all  kinds,  i:^^ 
they  happen  to  need  it : —  'i 

First, — That  however  any  suffering  may  seem  to  be| 
purely  mental,  body  alone  may  occasion  it ;  which  was| 
undoubtedly  the  case  in  my  instance.  ■ 

Second, — That  as  human  beings  do  not  originate  their 
own  bodies  or  minds,  and  as  yet  very  imperfectly  know 
how  to  manage  them,  they  have  a  right  to  all  the  aid 
or  comfort  they  can  procure,  under  any  sufferings 
whatsoever. 

Third, — That  whether  it  be  the  mind  or  body  that  is 
ailing,  or  both,  they  may  save  themselves  a  world  of 
perplexity  and  of  illness  by  going  at  once  to  a  physician. 

Fourth, — That  till  they  do  so,  or  in  case  they  are 

183 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

unable  to  do  it,  a  recourse  to  the  first  principles  of 
lu'alth  is  their  only  wise  proceeding  ;  by  which  principles 
1  understand  air  and  exercise,  bathing,  amusements,  and 
whatsoever  else  tends  to  enliven  and  purify  the  blood. 

Fifth, — That  the  blackest  day  may  have  a  bright 
morrow  ;  for  my  last  and  worst  ilhiess  suddenly  left  me, 
probably  in  consequence  of  the  removal,  though  uncon- 
sciously, of  some  internal  obstruction  ;  and  it  is  now  for 
the  long  period  above  mentioned  that  I  have  not  had 
the  slightest  return  of  it,  though  I  have  had  many 
anxieties  to  endure,  and  a  great  deal  of  sickness. 

Sixth, — That  the  far  greater  portion  of  a  life  thus 
tried  may  nevertheless  be  remarkable  for  cheerfulness  ; 
which  has  been  the  case  w  ith  my  own. 

Seventh, — That  the  value  of  cheerful  opinions  is 
inestimable ;  that  they  will  retain  a  sort  of  heaven 
round  a  man,  when  everything  else  might  fail  him  ;  and 
that,  consequently,  they  ought  to  be  religiously 
inculcated  in  children. 

Eighth  and  last, — That  evil  itself  has  its  bright,  or  at 
any  rate  its  redeeming,  side  ;  probably  is  but  the  fugitive 
requisite  of  some  everlasting  good  ;  and  assuredly,  in 
the  meantime,  and  in  a  thousand  obvious  instances,  is 
the  admonisher,  the  producer,  the  increaser,  nay,  the 
very  adorner  and  splendid  investitor  of  good  ;  it  is  the 
pain  that  prevents  a  worse,  the  storm  that  diffuses 
health,  the  plague  that  enlarges  cities,  the  fatigue  that 
sweetens  sleep,  the  discord  that  enriches  harmonies,  the 
calamity  that  tests  affections,  the  victory  and  the  crown 
of  patience,  the  enrapturer  of  the  embraces  of  joy. 

I  was  reminded  of  the  circumstances  which  gave  rise 
to  these  reflections,  by  the  mention  of  the  friend  of 
whom  I  spoke  last,  and  another  brother  of  whom  I 
went  to  see  during  my  first  illness.  He  was  a  young 
and  amiable  artist,  residing  at  Gainsborough  in  Lincoln- 
shire. He  had  no  conception  of  what  I  suffered ;  and 
one  of  his  modes  of  entertaining  me  was  his  taking  me 
to  a  friend  of  his,  a  surgeon,  to  see  his  anatomical 
preparations,  and  delight  my  hypochondriacal  eyes  with 
grinnings  of  skulls  and  delicacies  of  injected  hearts.  I 
have  no  more  horror  now,  on  reflection,  of  those  f  rame- 

184 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

works  and  machineries  of  the  beautiful  body  in  which 
we  live,  than  I  have  of  the  jacks  and  wires  of  a 
harpsichord.  The  first  sight  revolts  us  simply  because 
life  dislikes  death,  and  the  human  being  is  jarred  out  of 
a  sense  of  its  integrity  by  these  bits  and  scraps  of  the 
material  portion  of  it.  But  I  know  it  is  no  more  me, 
than  it  is  the  feeling  which  revolts  from  it,  or  than  the 
harpsichord  itself  is  the  music  that  Haydn  or  Beethoven 
put  into  it.  Indeed,  I  did  not  think  otherwise  at  the 
time,  with  the  healthier  part  of  me  ;  nor  did  this 
healthier  part  ever  forsake  me.  I  always  attributed 
what  I  felt  to  bodily  ailment,  and  talked  as  reasonably, 
and  for  the  most  part  as  cheerfully,  with  my  friends  as 
usual,  nor  did  I  ever  once  gainsay  the  cheerfulness  and 
hopefulness  of  my  opinions.  But  I  could  not  look 
comfortably  on  the  bones  and  the  skulls  nevertheless, 
though  I  made  a  point  of  sustaining  the  exhibition.  I 
bore  anything  that  came,  in  order  that  I  might  be 
overborne  by  nothing ;  and  I  found  this  practice  of 
patience  very  useful.  I  also  took  part  in  every 
diversion,  and  went  into  as  many  different  places  and 
new  scenes  as  possible ;  which  reminds  me  that  I  once 
rode  with  my  Lincolnshire  friend  from  Gainsborough  to 
Doncaster,  and  that  he  and  I,  sick  and  serious  as  I  was, 
or  rather  because  I  was  sick  and  serious  (for  such 
extremes  meet,  and  melancholy  has  a  good-natured 
sister  in  mirth),  made,  in  the  course  of  our  journey,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  rhymes  on  the  word  "  philosopher." 
We  stopped  at  that  number,  only  because  we  had  come 
to  our  journey's  end.  I  shall  not  apologize  to  the 
reader  for  mentioning  this  boy's  play,  because  I  take 
every  reader  who  feels  an  interest  in  this  book  to  be 
a  bit  of  a  philosopher  himself,  and  therefore  prepared 
to  know  that  boy's  play  and  man's  play  are  much 
of tener  identical  than  people  suppose,  especially  when 
the  heart  has  need  of  the  pastime.  I  need  not  remind  | 
him  of  the  sage,  who  while  playing  with  a  parcel  of  | 
schoolboys  suddenly  stopped  at  the  approach  of  a  I 
solemn  personage,  and  said,  "  We  must  leave  off,  boys,  | 
at  present,  for  here's  a  fool  coming." 

The  number  of  rhymes  might  be  a  little  more  sur- 

185 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

prising ;  but  the  wonder  will  cease  when  the  reader 
considers  that  they  must  have  been  doggerel,  and  that 
there  is  no  end  to  the  forms  in  which  rhymes  can  set  off 
from  new  given  points  ;  as,  go  so  far,  throiv  so  far ;  nose 
of  her,  hemuv  of  her  ;  toss  of  her,  cross  of  her,  etc. 

Spirits  of  Swift  and  Butler !  come  to  my  aid,  if  any 
chance  reader,  not  of  our  right  reading  fashion,  happen 
to  light  upon  this  passage,  and  be  inclined  to  throw 
down  the  book.  Come  to  his  aid ;  for  he  does  not 
know  what  he  is  going  to  do  ; — how  many  illustrious 
jingles  he  is  about  to  vituperate  ! 

The  surgeon  I  speak  of  was  good  enough  one  day  to 
take  me  with  him  round  the  country,  to  visit  his 
patients.  I  was  startled  in  a  respectable  farmhouse  to 
hear  language  openly  talked  in  a  mixed  party  of  males 
and  females,  of  a  kind  that  seldom  courts  publicity,  and 
that  would  have  struck  with  astonishment  an  eulogizer 
of  pastoral  innocence.  Yet  nobody  seemed  surprised  at 
it ;  nor  did  it  bring  a  blush  on  the  cheek  of  a  very  nice, 
modest-looking  girl.  She  only  smiled,  and  seemed  to 
think  it  was  the  man's  way.  Probably  it  was  nothing 
more  than  the  language  which  was  spoken  in  the  first 
circles  in  times  of  old,  and  which  thus  survived  among 
the  peasantry,  just  as  we  find  them  retaining  words 
that  have  grown  obsolete  in  cities.  The  guilt  and 
innocence  of  manners  very  much  depend  on  conven- 
tional agreement ;  that  is  to  say,  on  what  is  thought  of 
them  with  respect  to  practice,  and  to  the  harm  or 
otherwise  which  they  are  actually  found  to  produce. 
The  very  dress  which  would  be  shameless  in  one  age  or 
country,  is  respectable  in  another ;  but  in  neither  case 
is  it  a  moral  test.  When  the  shame  goes  in  one  respect, 
it  by  no  means  comes  in  another  ;  otherwise  all  Turks 
would  be  saints,  and  all  Europeans  sinners.  The  minds 
of  the  people  in  the  Lincolnshire  farmhouse  were 
"  naked  and  not  ashamed."  It  must  be  owned,  how- 
ever, that  there  was  an  amount  of  consciousness  about 
them,  which  savoured  more  of  a  pagan  than  a 
paradisaical  state  of  innocence. 

One  of  this  gentleman's  patients  was  very  amusing. 
He  was  a  pompous  old  gentleman-farmer,  cultivating 

186 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

his  gout  on  two  chairs,  and  laying  down  the  law  on  the 
state  of  the  nation.     Lord  Eldon  he  called  "  my  Lord 
Eljin"  (Elgin) ;  and  he  showed  us  what  an  ignorant 
man  this  chancellor  was,   and  what  a  dreadful   thing  1 
such   want   of  knowledge  was  for   the   country.     The  j 
proof  of  his  own  fitness  for  setting  things  right  was  5 
thus  given  by  his  making  three  mistakes  in  one  word.  | 
He   took  Lord  Eldon   for   Lord  Elgin ;  he  took  Lord  I 
Elgin  for  the  chancellor ;  and  he  pronounced  his  lord-  j 
ship's  name  with  a  soft  g  instead  of  a  hard  one.     His  ^ 
medical  friend  was    of  course  not  bound  to  cure  his  | 
spelling  as  well  as  his  gout ;  so  we  left  him  in  the  full-  I 
blown    satisfaction    of    having    struck     awe    on    the 
Londoner. 

Dr.  Young  talks  of —  | 

"That  hideous  sight — a  naked  human  heart:" 

a  line  not  fit  to  have  been  written  by  a  human  being. 
The  sight  of  the  physical  heart,  it  must  be  owned,  was 
trying  enough  to  sick  eyes ;  that  of  the  Doctor's  moral 
heart,  according  to  himself,  would  have  been  far  worse. 
I  don't  believe  it.  I  don't  believe  he  had  a  right  thus 
to  calumniate  it,  much  less  that  of  his  neighbour,  and| 
of  the  whole  human  race.  | 

I  saw^  a  worse  sight  than  the  heart,  in  a  journey  I 
which  I  took  into  a  neighbouring  country.  It  was  an 
infant,  all  over  sores,  and  cased  in  steel — the  result  of 
the  irregularities  of  its  father ;  and  I  confess  that  I ; 
would  rather  have  seen  the  heart  of  the  very  father  of 
that  child,  than  I  would  the  child  himself.  I  am  sure 
it  must  have  bled  at  the  sight.  I  am  sure  there  would 
have  been  a  feeling  of  some  sort  to  vindicate  nature, 
granting  that  up  to  that  moment  the  man  had  been  a 
fool  or  even  a  scoundrel.  Sullenness  itself  would  have 
been  some  amends;  some  sort  of  confession  and  regret. 
As  to  the  poor  child,  let  us  trust  that  the  horrible 
spectacle  prevented  more  such  ;  that  he  was  a  martyr, 
dying  soon,  and  going  to  some  heaven  where  little  souls 
are  gathered  into  comfort,  I  never  beheld  such  a  sight, 
before  or  since,  except  in  one  of  the  pictures  of  Hogarth, 
in  his  Rake's  Progress  ;  and  I  sadden  this  page  with  the 

187 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH    HUNT 

rocoUection,  for  the  same  reason  that  induced  him  to 
paint  it. 

I  have  mentioned  that  I  got  rid  of  a  palpitation  of 
the  heart,  which  accompanied  my  first  visitation  of 
hypochondria,  by  riding  on  horseback.  The  palpitation 
was  so  strong  and  incessant,  that  I  was  forced,  for 
some  nights,  to  sleep  in  a  reclining  posture,  and  I 
expected  sudden  death  ;  but  when  I  began  the  horse- 
back, I  soon  found  that  the  more  I  rode,  and  (I  used  to 
think)  the  harder  I  rode,  the  less  the  palpitation 
became.  Galloping  one  day  up  a  sloping  piece  of 
ground,  the  horse  suddenly  came  to  a  stand,  by  a 
chalk-pit,  and  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  myself 
not  only  unprecipitated  over  his  head  (for  though  a 
decent,  I  was  not  a  skilful  rider),  but  in  a  state  of 
singular  calmness  and  self-possession — a  right  proper 
masculine  state  of  nerves.  I  might  have  discovered, 
as  I  did  afterwards,  what  it  was  that  so  calmed  and 
strengthened  me.  I  was  of  a  temperament  of  body  in 
which  the  pores  were  not  easily  opened  ;  and  the  freer 
they  were  kept,  the  better  I  was  ;  but  it  took  me  a 
long  time  to  discover  that  in  order  to  be  put  into  a 
state  of  vigour  as  well  as  composure,  I  required  either 
vigorous  exercise  or  some  strong  moral  excitement 
connected  with  the  sense  of  action.  Unfortunately,  I 
had  a  tendency  to  extremes  in  self -treatment.  At  one 
time  I  thought  to  cure  myself  by  cold-water  baths,  in 
which  I  persevered  through  a  winter  season ;  and,  subse- 
quently, I  hurt  myself  by  hot  baths.  Late  hours  at 
night  were  not  mended  by  lying  in  bed  of  a  morning ; 
nor  incessant  reading  and  writing,  by  weeks  in  which 
I  did  little  but  stroll  and  visit.  It  is  true,  I  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  ever  been  without  a  book  ;  for  if  not  in 
my  hand,  it  was  at  my  side,  or  in  my  pocket ;  but  what 
I  needed  was  ordinary,  regular  habits,  accompanied 
^  with  a  more  than  ordinary  amount  of  exercise.  I  was 
^  never  either  so  happy  or  so  tranquil,  as  when  I  was  in 
ia  state  the  most  active.  I  could  very  well  understand 
the  character  of  an  unknown  individual,  described  in 
the  prose  works  of  Ben  Jonson,  who  w^ould  sit  writing 
day  and  night  till  he  fainted,  and  then  so  entirely  give 

188 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

himself  up  to  diversion,  that  people  despaired  of  getting 
him  to  work  again.  But  I  sympathized  still  more  with 
one  of  the  Rucellai  family,  who  was  so  devoted  to  a« 
sedentary  life,  that  he  could  not  endure  the  thought  | 
of  being  taken  from  it ;  till  being  forced,  in  a  manner,  ^ 
to  accept  a  diplomatic  mission,  he  became  as  vehement  ;' 
for  a  life  of  action  as  he  had  before  been  absorbed  in 
indolence,  and  was  never  satisfied  till  he  was  driving 
everything  before  him,  and  spinning,  with  his  chariot- 
wheels,  from  one  court  to  another.  If  I  had  not  a 
reverence,  indeed,  for  whatever  has  taken  place  in  the 
ordinance  of  things,  great  and  small,  I  should  often 
have  fancied  that  some  such  business  of  diplomacy 
would  have  been  my  proper  vocation  ;  for  I  delight  in 
imagining  conferences  upon  points  that  are  to  be 
carried,  or  scenes  in  which  thrones  are  looked  upon, 
and  national  compliments  are  to  be  conveyed  ;  and  I 
am  sure  that  a  great  deal  of  action  would  have  kept 
me  in  the  finest  health.  Whatever  dries  up  the  surface 
of  my  body,  intimidates  me  ;  but  when  the  reverse  has 
been  effected  by  anything  except  the  warm  bath,  fear 
has  forsaken  me,  and  my  spirit  has  felt  as  broad  and 
healthy  as  my  shoulders. 

I  did  not  discover  this  particular  cause  of  healthy 
sensation  till  long  after  my  recovery.  I  attributed  it 
entirely  to  exercise  in  general ;  but  by  exercise,  at  all 
events  (and  I  mention  the  w^hole  circumstance  for  the 
benefit  of  the  nervous),  health  was  restored  to  me  ; 
and  I  maintained  it  as  long  as  I  persevered  in  the 
means. 

Not  long  after  convalescence,  the  good  that  had  been 
done  me  was  put  further  to  the  test.  Some  friends, 
among  w^hom  w^ere  two  of  my  brothers  and  myself,  had 
a  day's  boating  up  the  Thames.  We  were  very  merry 
and  jovial,  and  not  prepared  to  think  any  obstacle,  in 
the  way  of  our  satisfaction,  possible.  On  a  sudden  we 
perceive  a  line  stretched  across  the  river  by  some 
fishermen.  We  call  out  to  them  to  lower,  or  take  it 
away.  They  say  they  will  not.  One  of  us  holds  up  a 
knife,  and  proclaims  his  intention  to  cut  it.  The  fisher- 
men defy  the  knife.     Forward  goes  the  knife  with  the 

189 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

boat,  and  cuts  the  line  in  the  most  beautiful  manner 
conceivjible.     The  two  halves  of  the  line  rushed  asunder. 

"Off,"  cry  the  fishermen  to  one  another,  "and  duck 
'em.'  They  push  out  their  boat.  Their  wives  (I  forget 
whence  they  issued)  appeared  on  the  bank,  echoing  the 
cry  of  "  Duck  'em ! "  We  halt  on  our  oars,  and  are 
come  up  with,  the  fishermen  looking  as  savage  as  w^ild 
islanders,  and  swearing  might  and  main.  My  brother 
and  myself,  not  to  let  us  all  be  run  down  (for  the 
fishermen's  boat  was  much  larger  than  ours,  and  we 
had  ladies  with  us,  who  were  terrified)  told  the  enemy 
we  would  come  among  them.  We  did  so,  going  from 
our  boat  into  theirs. 

The  determination  to  duck  us  no^\^  became  manifest 
enough,  and  the  fishermen's  wives  (cruel  with  their 
husbands'  lost  fishing)  seemed  equally  determined  not 
to  let  the  intention  remit.  They  screamed  and  yelled 
like  so  many  furies.  The  fishermen  seized  my  brother 
John,  whom  they  took  for  the  cutter  of  the  line,  and 
would  have  instantly  effected  their  purpose,  had  he 
not  been  clasped  round  the  waist  by  my  brother  Robert, 
who  kept  him  tight  down  in  a  corner  of  the  hold.  A 
violent  struggle  ensued,  during  which  a  ruffianly  fellow 
aiming  a  blow  at  my  brother  John's  face,  whose  arms 
were  pinioned,  I  had  the  good  luck  to  intercept  it. 
Meanwhile  the  wives  of  the  boaters  were  screaming  as 
well  as  the  wives  of  the  fishermen  ;  and  it  was  asked 
our  antagonists,  whether  it  was  befitting  brave  men  to 
frighten  women  out  of  their  senses. 

The  fury  seemed  to  relax  a  little  at  this.  The  word 
"  payment "  was  mentioned,  which  seemed  to  relax  it 
more  ;  but  it  was  still  divided  between  threat  and 
demand,  when,  in  the  midst  of  a  fresh  outbreak  of  the 
first  resolution,  beautiful  evidence  was  furnished  of  the 
magical  effects  of  the  word  "  law." 

Luckily  for  our  friends  and  ourselves  (for  the  enemy 
had  the  advantage  of  us,  both  in  strength  and  numbers), 
the  owner  of  the  boat,  it  seems,  had  lately  been  worsted 
in  some  action  of  trespass,  probably  of  the  very  nature 
of  what  they  had  been  doing  with  their  line.  I  was 
then  living  with  my  brother  Stephen,  who  was  in  the 

190 


SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION 

law.  I  happened  to  be  dressed  in  black ;  and  I  had 
gathered  from  some  words  which  fell  from  them  during 
their  rage,  that  what  they  had  been  about  with  their 
fishing-net  was  in  all  probability  illegal.  I  assumed  it 
to  be  so.  I  mentioned  the  dreaded  word  "  law  ; "  my 
black  coat  corroborated  its  impression ;  and,  to  our 
equal  relief  and  surprise,  w^e  found  them  on  the  sudden 
converting  their  rage  and  extortion  into  an  assumption 
that  we  meant  to  settle  with  their  master,  and  quietly 
permitting  us  to  get  back  to  our  friends. 

Throughout  this  little    rough   adventure,    which   at 
one  time  threatened    very  distressing,   if   not   serious 
consequences,  I  was  glad  to  find  that  I  underwent  no 
apprehensions  but  such  as  became  me.     The  pain  and 
horror  that  used  to  be  given  me  at  sight  of  human 
antagonism    never  entered  my   head.      I  felt  nothing 
but    a   flow^   of  brotherhood   and   determination,    and 
returned  in  fine  breathing  condition  to    the    oar.       I 
subsequently   found    that    all   corporate   occasions    of 
excitement  affected  me  in  the  same  healthy  manner.;. 
The  mere  fact  of  being  in  a  crowd  when  their  feelings  \v 
were  strongly  moved,  to  whatever  purpose,  roused  all  | 
that  was  strong  in  me  ;    and  from  the   alacrity,  and  | 
even  comfort  and  joy,  into  which  I  was  warmed  by  the  v 
thought  of  resistance  to  whatever  wrong  might  demand   i 
it,  I  learned  plainly  enough  what  a  formidable  thing  a    f, 
human  being  might  become  if  he  took  wrong  for  right,    | 
and  what  reverence  was  due  to  the  training  and  just    i? 
treatment  of  the  myriads  that  compose  a  nation. 

I  was  now  again  in  a  state  of  perfect  comfort  and  ' 
enjoyment,  the  gayer  for  the  cloud  which  had  gone, 
though  occasionally  looking  back  on  it  with  gravity,  ; 
and  prepared,  alas !  or  rather  preparing  myself  by  | 
degrees,  to  undergo  it  again  in  the  course  of  a  few  ^ 
years  by  relapsing  into  a  sedentary  life.  Suffer  as  I  '• 
might  have  done,  I  had  not,  it  seems,  suffered  enough. 
However,  the  time  was  very  delightful  while  it  lasted. 
I  thoroughly  enjoyed  my  books,  my  walks,  my  com-  ^ 
panions,  my  verses ;  and  I  had  never  ceased  to  be  | 
ready  to  fall  in  love  with  the  first  tender-hearted 
damsel  that  should  encourage  me.     Now  it  was  a  fair 

191 


AUTOTUOfHiA  F'M  Y    OF'    LEIGH    HUNT 


j<h/irrn<r,  iitul  now  Ji  \)iuncA.U'  ;   now  u  ^irl  who  HJin^,  or 
'a   ^irl    wFio  ilntuuul  ;   now   on<r   tliut  was   merry,  or   waf 


r 
waH 

nH'lan<*fioly,  or  hci'iuwa]  tAt  mrt'  for  nofliin^,  or  for 
every  f  liiii^,  or  wan  a  j^oo<I  fr'n'.inl,  or  ^ood  HiHt/<*r,  or 
^oo<l  ilau^^hU'r.  Willi  Ihis  lanf,,  wlio  <-(»rii|)lr'f <m1  Ju^r 
;  confjurst  hy  n^jwlin^  vcrnaH  h<;tU;r  (Jian  I  lia<l  (rv(^r  yot 
!  heard,  I  ultimnU'Ay  hricarnr;  w<m1(J(!(1  for  Iif«;  ;  and  nhc. 
\  r<;fulH  vorHOH  \)i',tUtr  tJi/m  «!V(!r  to  tFji.M  day,  <!Hp(!(nally 
'.  Hoin«'  that  shall  !»»•  nainclcH.s.' 


CHyMTKK   IX 

Tin-;  "KXAMINKK" 

|18(J8| 

AT  th<-  \>c'^'iiiuin^  of  t,h(^  year  ISOS,  irxy  hrothcr  .John 
and  niyMcIf  Hj^t  up  th<!  weekly  ]ni\H'r  of  th(! 
I'j.inniirur*  in  joint  partne'rHFiij*.  It  w/ih  named  aft<;r 
th(!  I'j.idiiii HIT  of  Swift  and  liis  hrothfti*  Tori(!H.  I  did 
n<»t  think  oi"  their  politics.  1  thought,  only  of  t.luiir 
wit  and  fine  writ, in)^,  whieh,  in  my  youthful  lunlideucc, 
I  pro[)Os(Ml  t.o  myH(df  to  enndate  ;  and  I  <  ould  lind  no 
prrivioiiH  p(jlitie/il  jouruul  <<|u;illy  (pi;ililic(|  (o  he  itH 
^odfatliei".  I'jVen  A<Mison  had  <all<(l  hi-  opposition 
\ui\U'.r   the     Wliuj    /'j'.i  (nni  HI  i\ 

Somfj  y(jarH  /ifterwards  I  Ii.kI  an  rtditorial  HucceHsor, 
Mr.  FVjnhlarKpie,  who  had  all  the  wit  foi-  which  I  toiif^d, 
witJiiiUt  niakinj^  any  pr(;t.ensionH  to  il.  lie  wan, 
iufhreij,  the  j^enuiiur  HUceesHor,  not,  of  me,  hut  of  th(! 
Swift '^  and  A^ldisons  themselveH;  [)rofuHe  of  wit-  even 
hcjyond     lln-m,    and     superior     in      political      knowlcdj^e. 

I'  WriLU:n  nearly  Um  yiuivn  b(;f(jr<;  the  pr(!H<;nL  edition  wiiH  piit)- 
liiiticd  :  ttic  fc'ulcr  IijmJ  ^onc  before  the  auttior  leviMcd  tiiH  own 
wfilifiK.  wliif  ti  tie  left  liii.ilU-rcd.  T.  H.j  |He<; 'I'lioi  nton  lliiiit'n  not^- 
U,   pit^c  'SVK\ 

\'  Kce  A|i|»cn(lix  for  Iliiiit'M  inohfx-ctii.M.  The  llrst  iiiiinher  waH 
[tiililiMlied  on  .Ifiniiat-y  '.i,  \>y  .lolin  Hunt.  liiiKh  Hunt.  eiliU-d,  and 
<  ()ntiil»uU-d  t/O  the  paper  for  !!{  year-H;  in  IKJO  it  chanKed  liandH. 
Aft4T  a  run  <»f  ovei-  Heventy  y<-/irM,  it  wiiM  diHcontinued  in  IHSl.j 

\U2, 


THE   "EXAMINER" 

Yet,  if  I  laboured  hard  for  what  was  so  easy  to  Mr. 
Fonblanque,  I  will  not  pretend  to  think  that  I  did  not 
sometimes  find  it ;  and  the  study  of  Addison  and  Steele, 
of  Goldsmith  and  Voltaire,  enabled  me,  when  I  was 
pleased  with  my  subject,  to  give  it  the  appearance  of 
ease.  At  other  times,  especially  on  serious  occasions,  I 
too  often  got  into  a  declamatory  vein,  full  of  what  I 
thought  fine  turns  and  Johnsonian  antitheses.  The 
new  office  of  editor  conspired  with  my  success  as  a 
critic  to  turn  my  head.  I  wrote,  though  anony- 
mously, in  the  first  person,  as  if,  in  addition  to  my 
theatrical  pretensions,  I  had  suddenly  become  an  oracle 
in  politics ;  the  words  philosophy,  poetry,  criticism, 
statesmanship,  nay,  even  ethics  and  theology,  all  took 
a  final  tone  in  my  lips.  When  I  remember  the  virtue 
as  well  as  knowledge  which  I  demanded  from  every- 
body whom  I  had  occasion  to  notice,  and  how  much 
charity  my  own  juvenile  errors  ought  to  have  con- 
sidered themselves  in  need  of  (however  they  might 
have  been  warranted  by  conventional  allowance),  I 
will  not  say  I  was  a  hypocrite  in  the  odious  sense  of 
the  word,  for  it  was  all  done  out  of  a  spirit  of  foppery 
and  "fine  writing,"  and  I  never  affected  any  formal 
virtues  in  private ; — but  when  I  consider  all  the  non- 
sense and  extravagance  of  those  assumptions,  all  the 
harm  they  must  have  done  me  in  discerning  eyes,  and 
all  the  reasonable  amount  of  resentment  which  it  was 
preparing  for  me  with  adversaries,  I  blush  to  think 
what  a  simpleton  I  was,  and  how  much  of  the  conse- 
quences I  deserved.  It  is  out  of  no  "ostentation  of 
candour  "  that  I  make  this  confession.  It  is  extremely 
painful  to  me. 

Suffering  gradually  worked  me  out  of  a  good  deal  of 
this  kind  of  egotism.  I  hope  that  even  the  present 
most  involuntarily  egotistical  book  affords  evidence 
that  I  am  pretty  well  rid  of  it ;  and  I  must  add,  in  my 
behalf,  that,  in  every  other  respect,  never,  at  that  time 
or  at  any  after  time,  was  I  otherwise  than  an  honest 
man.  I  overrated  my  claims  to  public  attention  ;  but 
I  set  out  perhaps  with  as  good  an  editorial  amount  of 
qualification  as  most  writers  no  older.     I  was  fairly 

193  o 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH    HUNT 

j^rounded  in  Englisli  liistory ;  I  had  carefully  read  De 
Lolme*  and  Blackstone  ; "  I  had  no  mercenary  views 
wliatsoever,  though  I  was  a  proprietor  of  the  journal  ; 
and  all  the  levity  of  my  animal  spirits,  and  the  foppery 
of  the  graver  part  of  my  pretensions,  had  not  destroyed 
that  spirit  of  martyrdom  which  had  been  inculcated  in 
me  from  the  cradle.  I  denied  myself  political  as  well 
as  theatrical  acquaintances ;  I  was  the  reverse  of  a 
speculator  upon  patronage  or  employment ;  and  I  was 
prepared,  with  my  excellent  brother,  to  suffer  manfully, 
should  the  time  for  suffering  arrive. 

The  spirit  of  the  criticism  on  the  theatres  continued 
the  same  as  it  had  been  in  the  iVeics.  In  politics,  from 
old  family  associations,  I  soon  got  interested  as  a  man, 
though  I  never  could  love  them  as  a  writer.  It  was 
against  the  grain  that  I  was  encouraged  to  begin  them; 
and  against  the  grain  I  ever  afterwards  sat  down  to 
write,  except  when  the  subject  was  of  a  very  general 
description,  and  I  could  introduce  philosophy  and  the 
belles  lettres. 

The  main  objects  of  the  Examiner  newspaper  were  to 
assist  in  producing  Reform  in  Parliament,  liberality  of 
opinion  in  general  (especially  freedom  from  supersti- 
tion), and  a  fusion  of  literary  taste  into  all  subjects 
whatsoever.  It  began  with  being  of  no  party ;  but 
Reform  soon  gave  it  one.  It  disclaimed  all  knowledge 
of  statistics ;  and  the  rest  of  its  politics  were  rather  a 
sentiment,  and  a  matter  of  general  training,  than 
founded  on  any  particular  political  reflection.  It 
possessed  the  benefit,  however,  of  a  good  deal  of  read- 
ing. It  never  wanted  examples  out  of  history  and 
biography,  or  a  kind  of  adornment  from  the  spirit  of 
literature  ;  and  it  gradually  drew  to  its  perusal  many 
intelligent  persons  of  both  sexes,  ^vho  would,  perhaps, 
never  have  attended  to  politics  under  other  circum- 
stances. 


['  TJie  ConstiUdion  of  Etiglaivd.  by  John  Louis  De  Lolme  (174i>- 
1806),  a  Swiss.  The  book  was  written  in  French,  but  an  English 
translation  appeared  in  177.5.] 

[2  Com'metitaries  on  the  Lciivs  of  England.,  by  Sir  William  Black- 
stone  (172:^-1780).] 

19^ 


THE    "EXAMINER" 

In  the  course  of  its  warfare  with  the  Tories,  the  Exam- 
iner was  charged  with  Bonapartism,  with  republicism, 
with  disaffection  to  Church  and  State,  with  conspiracy 
at  the  tables  of  Burdett,^  and  Cobbett,^  and  Henry- 
Hunt.^  Now,  Sir  Francis,  though  he  was  for  a  long 
time  our  hero,  we  never  exchanged  a  word  with ;  and 
Cobbett  and  Henry  Hunt  (no  relation  of  ours)  we 
never  beheld ; — never  so  much  as  saw  their  faces.  I 
was  never  even  at  a  public  dinner ;  nor  do  I  believe  my 
brother  was.  We  had  absolutely  no  views  whatsoever 
but  those  of  a  decent  competence  and  of  the  public 
good  ;  and  we  thought,  I  dare  affirm,  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  latter  than  of  the  former.  Our  competence  we 
allowed  too  much  to  shift  for  itself.  Zeal  for  the 
public  good  was  a  family  inheritance ;  and  this  we 
thought  ourselves  bound  to  increase.  As  to  myself, 
what  I  thought  of,  more  than  either,  was  the  making 
of  verses.  I  did  nothing  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
week  but  write  verses  and  read  books.  I  then  made  a 
rush  at  my  editorial  duties ;  took  a  w^orld  of  superfluous 
pains  in  the  writing ;  sat  up  late  at  night,  and  was  a 
very  trying  person  to  compositors  and  newsmen.  I 
sometimes  have  before  me  the  ghost  of  a  pale  and 
gouty  printer  whom  I  specially  caused  to  suffer,  and 
who  never  complained.  I  think  of  him  and  of  some 
needy  dramatist,  and  wish  they  had  been  worse  men. 

The  Examiner  commenced  at  the  time  when  Bona^ 
parte  was  at  the  height  of  his  power.  He  had  the! 
continent  at  his  feet ;  and  three  of  his  brothers  werel 
on  thrones.  | 

I  thought  of  Bonaparte  at  that  time  as  I  have  though!^ 
ever  since  ;  to  wit,  that  he  was  a  great  soldier,  and  littlei 
else ;  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  the  highest  order  of  | 
intellect,  much  less  a  cosmopolite  ;  that  he  was  a  retro-? 
spective  rather  than  a  prospective  man,  ambitious  of: 
old  renown  instead  of  new  ;  and  would  advance  the? 
age   as   far,    and   no   farther,   as   suited  his   views  of 

[>  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  Bart.  (1770-1844),  the  Radical  member  for 
Westminster.     He  married  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Coixtts  the  banker.] 
[2  William  Cobbett  (1702-lS:^),  the  Radical  pamphleteer.] 
[^  Henry  Hunt  (1773-1835),  a  Radical  agitator  and  orator.] 

195 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH  HUNT 

vpersonal  aggrandizement.  The  Examiner,  however 
inut'h  it  differed  with  the  niiUtary  policy  of  Bona- 
parte's antagonists,  or  however  meanly  it  thought  of 
•their  understandings,  never  overrated  his  own,  or  was 
Sone  of  his  partisans. 

?  I  now  look  upon  war  as  one  of  the  fleeting  necessities 
of  things  in  the  course  of  human  progress  ;  as  an  evil 
(like  most  other  evils)  to  be  regarded  in  relation  to 
some  other  evil  that  would  have  been  worse  without  it, 
but  always  to  be  considered  as  an  indication  of  compara- 
tive barbarism — as  a  necessity,  the  perpetuity  of  which 
is  not  to  be  assumed — or  as  a  half-reasoning  mode  of 
adjustment,  whether  of  disputes  or  of  populations,  which 
mankind,  on  arriving  at  years  of  discretion,  and  coming 
to  a  better  understanding  with  one  another,  may,  and 
must  of  necessity,  do  away.  It  would  be  as  ridiculous 
to  associate  the  idea  of  war  with  an  earth  covered  with 
railroads  and  commerce,  as  a  fight  between  Holborn  and 
the  Strand,  or  between  people  met  in  a  drawing-room. 
Wars,  like  all  other  evils,  have  not  been  without  their 
good.  They  have  pioneered  human  intercourse  ;  have 
thus  prepared  even  for  their  own  eventual  abolition  ; 
and  their  follies,  losses  and  horrors  have  been  made  the 
best  of  by  adornments  and  music,  and  consoled  by  the 
exhibition  of  many  noble  qualities.  There  is  no  evil 
unmixed  with,  or  unproductive  of,  good.  It  could  not, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  exist.  Antagonism  itself  pre- 
vents it.  But  nature  incites  us  to  the  diminution  of 
evil ;  and  while  it  is  pious  to  make  the  best  of  what  is 
inevitable,  it  is  no  less  so  to  obey  the  impulse  which 
she  has  given  us  towards  thinking  and  making  it  other- 
wise. 

With  respect  to  the  charge  of  republicanism  against 
the  Examiner,  it  was  as  ridiculous  as  the  rest.  Both 
Napoleon  and  the  Allies  did,  indeed,  so  conduct  them- 
selves on  the  high  roads  of  empire  and  royalty,  and 
the  British  sceptre  was  at  the  same  time  so  unfortu- 
nately wielded  that  kings  and  princes  were  often 
treated  with  less  respect  in  our  pages  than  we  desired. 
But  we  generally  felt,  and  often  expressed,  a  wish  to 
treat    them    otherwise.      The    Examiner   was    always 

196 


THE   ''EXAMINER" 

quoting  against  them  the  Alfreds  and  Antoninuses  of 
old.     The    "  Constitution,"    with   its   King,   Lords   and 
Commons,  was  its  incessant  watchword.     The  greatest 
political  change  which  it  desired  was  Reform  in  Parlia- 
ment ;    and  it  helped  to  obtain  it,  because  it  was  in^ 
earnest.     As  to  republics,  the  United  States,  notwith-t 
standing  our  family  relationship,   were  no  favourites! 
with  us,  owing  to  what  appeared  to  us  to  be  an  absorp-  ' 
tion  in  the  love  of  money,  and  to  their  then  want  of  i 
the  imaginative  and  ornamental ;  and  the  excesses  of  • 
the  French  Revolution  we  held  in  abhorrence. 

With  regard  to  Church  and    State,  the   connection  | 
was    of    course   duly  recognized  by   admirers   of    the  i 
English  constitution.     We  desired,  it  is  true,  reform  | 
in  both,  being  far  greater  admirers  of  Christianity  in  | 
its  primitive  than  in  any  of  its  subsequent  shapes,  and 
hearty  accorders  with  the  dictum  of  the  apostle,  who 
said  that  the  "  letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life."  | 
Our  version  of  religious  faith  was  ever  nearer  to  what  | 
M.  Lamartine  has  called  the  "  New  Christianity,"  than  f 
to    that  of   Doctors    Horsley  and   Philpotts.     But  we| 
heartily  advocated  the  mild  spirit  of  religious  govern-  i' 
ment,  as  exercised  by  the  Church  of  England,  in  oppo-  / 
sition  to  the  bigoted  part  of  dissent ;  and  in  furtherance 
of  this  advocacy,  the  first  volume  of  the  Exaininei'  con- 
tained  a  series  of  Essays  on  the  Folly  and  Danger'  of 
Methodism,    which   were    afterwards    collected   into   a    . 
pamphlet.^     So  "  orthodox  "  were  these  essays,  short  of    ; 
points  from  which  common  sense  and  humanity  always 
appeared  to  us  to  revolt,  and  from  which  the  deliver- 
ance of  the  Church  itself  is  now,  I  believe,  not  far  off, 
that  in  duty  to  our  hope  of  that  deliverance,  I  after- 
wards thought  it  necessary  to  guard  against  the  con- 
clusions which  might  have  been  drawn  from  them,  as 
to  the  amount  of  our  assent.     A  church  appeared  to 
me  then,  as  it  still  does,  an  instinctive  want  in  the 
human  family.     I  never  to  this  day  pass  one,  even  of  a 

['  An  Attempt  to  Show  the  Folly  and  Danger  of  Metliodlsin,  in  a 
series  of  essays,  first  piiblislied  in  the  weekly  paper  called  the 
E.eaniiner,  and  now  enlai'ged  with  a  preface  and  editorial  note,  by 
the  editor  of  the  Examiner,  1809.] 

197 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

kind  tlio  most  unroformed,  without  Ji  wish  to  go  into 
it  and  join  luy  t'ellow-creatures  in  their  ntrecting  evi- 
dence  of  the  necessity  of  an  additional  tie  with  Deity 
and  Infinity,  with  this  world  and  the  next.  But  the 
wish  is  ac'coinpanied  with  an  afflicting  regret  that  I 
cannot  recognize  it,  free  from  barbarisms  derogatory 
to  both  ;  and  I  sigh  for  some  good  old  country  church, 
finally  delivered  from  the  corruptions  of  the  Councils, 
and  breathing  nothing  but  the  peace  and  love  befitting 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  I  believe  that  a  time  is 
coming,  when  such  doctrine,  and  such  only,  will  be 
preached  ;  and  my  future  grave,  in  a  certain  beloved 
and  flowery  cemetery,  seems  quieter  for  the  consumma- 
tion.    But  I  anticipate. 

For  a  short  period  before  and  after  the  setting  up  of 
the  Exaininer,  I  was  a  clerk  in  the  War  Office.  The 
situation  was  given  me  by  Mr.  Addington,^  then  prime 
minister,  afterwards  Lord  Sidmouth,  who  knew  my 
father.  My  sorry  stock  of  arithmetic,  which  I  taught 
myself  on  j)urpose,  was  sufficient  for  the  work  which  I 
had  to  do  ;  but  otherwise  I  made  a  bad  clerk ;  wasting 
my  time  and  that  of  others  in  perpetual  jesting ;  going 
too  late  to  office  ;  and  feeling  conscious  that  if  I  did  not 
quit  the  situation  myself,  nothing  was  more  likely,  or 
would  have  been  more  just,  than  a  suggestion  to  that 
effect  from  others.  The  establishment  of  the  Exaininer, 
and  the  tone  respecting  the  court  and  the  ministry 
which  I  soon  thought  myself  bound  to  adopt,  increased 
the  sense  of  the  propriety  of  this  measure ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, I  sent  in  my  resignation.  Mr.  Addington 
had  fortunately  ceased  to  be  minister  before  the 
Exaininer  was  set  up ;  and  though  I  had  occasion 
after^vards  to  differ  extremely  with  the  measures 
approved  of  by  him  as  Lord  Sidmouth,  I  never  forgot 
the  personal  respect  which  I  owed  him  for  his  kindness 
to  myself,  to  his  own  amiable  manners,  and  to  his 
undoubted,    though    not   wise,    conscientiousness.     He 

[*  Henry  Addington,  Lord  Sidmouth  (1755-1844),  elected  in  1789 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons.  On  Pitt's  resignation  of  the 
Chancellorship  of  the  Exchequer,  in  1801,  Addington  took  his  place. 
He  resigned  in  1804,  and  was  created  a  peer  bv  George  III.] 

198 


THE   "EXAMINER" 

had  been  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  a  situa- 
tion for  which  his  figure  and  deportment  at  that  time 
of  life  admirably  fitted  him.  I  think  I  hear  his  fine 
voice,  in  his  house  at  Richmond  Park,  good-naturedly 
expressing  to  me  his  hope,  in  the  words  of  the  poet, 
that  it  might  be  one  day  said  of  me, — 

" — Not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wander'd  long, 
But  stoop'd  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song." 

The  sounding  words  "  moralized  his  song,"  came  tonincf 
out  of  his  dignified  vitterance  like  "  sonorous  metal." 
This  was  when  I  went  to  thank  him  for  the  clerkship. 
I  afterwards  sat  on  the  grass  in  the  park  feeling  as 
if  I  were  in  a  dream,  and  wondering  how  I  should 
reconcile  my  propensity  to  verse  making  with  sums  in 
addition.  The  minister,  it  was  clear,  thought  them 
not  incompatible :  nor  are  they.  Let  nobody  think 
otherwise,  unless  he  is  preiaared  to  suffer  for  the  mis- 
take, and,  what  is  worse,  to  make  others  suffer.  The 
body  of  the  British  Poets  themselves  shall  confute  him, 
with  Chaucer  at  their  head,  who  was  a  "  comptroller 
of  wool "  and  "  clerk  of  works." 

"Thou  hearest  neither  that  nor  this" 
(says  the  eagle  to  him  in  the  House  of  Fame) ; — 

"For  when  thy  labour  all  done  is, 
And  hast  made  all  thy  reckonirigs. 
Instead  of  I'est  and  of  new  things, 
Thou  goest  home  to  thine  house  anon. 
And  all  so  dumb  as  any  stone 
Thou  sittest  at  another  book, 
Till  fully  daz6d  is  thy  look." 

Lamb,  it  is  true,  though   ho  stuck  to    it,  has  com- 
plained of 

"The  dry  drudgery  of  the  desk's  dead  wood:" 

and  Chaucer  was  unable  to  attend  to  his  accounts  in 
the  month  of  May,  when,  as  he  tells  us,  he  could  not 
help  passing  whole  days  in  the  fields,  looking  at  the 
daisies.  The  case,  as  in  all  other  matters,  can  only 
be    vindicated,    or    otherwise,    by    the    consequences. 

199 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

Bat  that  is  a  perilous  responsibility  ;  and  it  involves 
assumptions  which  ought  to  be  startling  to  the  modesty 
of  young  rhyming  gentlemen  not  in  the  receipt  of  an 
income. 

I  did  not  give  up,  however,  a  certainty  for  an  un- 
certainty. The  Exaininer  was  fully  established  when  I 
quitted  the  office  [in  1808].^  My  friends  thought  that  I 
should  be  better  able  to  attend  to  its  editorship  ;  and 
it  was  felt,  at  any  rate,  that  I  could  not  with  propriety 
remain.  So  I  left  my  fellow-clerks  to  their  better 
behaviour  and  quieter  rooms ;  and  set  my  face  in  the 
direction  of  stormy  x^olitics. 


CHAPTER  X 

LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

[1809] 

JUST  after  this  period  I  fell  in  with  a  new  set  of 
acquaintances,  accounts  of  whom  may  not  be  un- 
interesting. I  forget  what  it  was  that  introduced  me 
to  Mr.  Hill,  proprietor  of  the  Monthly  Mirror;  but 
at  his  house  at  Sydenham  I  used  to  meet  his  editor, 
Du  Bois  ;  ^  Thomas  Campbell,  who  was  his  neighbour  ; 
and  the  two  Smiths,^  authors  of  The  Rejected  Addresses. 
I  saw  also  Theodore  Hook,  and  Mathews  the  comedian. 
Our  host  was  a  jovial  bachelor,  plumj)  and  rosy  as  an 
abbot ;  and  no  abbot  could  have  presided  over  a  more 
festive  Sunday.  The  wine  flowed  merrily  and  long ; 
the  discourse  kept  pace  with  it ;  and  next  morning,  in 
returning  to  town,  we  felt  ourselves  very  thirsty.  A 
I)ump  by  the  roadside,  with  a  i)lasli  round  it,  was  a 
bewitching  sight. 

[1  Hunt's  letter  to  the  Secretary-at-Wai%  resigning  his  appoint- 
ment, is  dated  26th  Dec,  1808.] 

[2  Edward  Du  Bois  (1774-1850).  Besides  some  novels,  he  issued  an 
edition  of  the  Decavieron  of  Boccaccio,  uiih  reviarks  on  his  Life 
and  Writings,  1804,  2  vols.] 

[3  Horatio  Smith  (1779-1849),  and  James  Smith  (1775-1839).] 

200 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

Du  Bois  was  one  of  those  wits  who,  like  the  cele- 
brated Eachard,  have  no  faculty  of  gravity.  His  hand- 
some hawk's  eyes  looked  blank  at  a  speculation  ;  but 
set  a  joke  or  a  piece  of  raillery  in  motion,  and  they 
sparkled  with  wit  and  malice.  Nothing  could  be  more 
trite  or  commonplace  than  his  serious  observations. 
Acquiescences  they  should  rather  have  been  called ;  for 
he  seldom  ventured  upon  a  gravity,  but  in  echo  of 
another's  remark.  If  he  did,  it  was  in  defence  of 
orthodoxy,  of  which  he  was  a  great  advocate ;  but  his 
quips  and  cranks  were  infinite.  He  was  also  an  excel- 
lent scholar.  He,  Dr.  King,^  and  Eachard  ^  would  have 
made  a  capital  trio  over  a  table,  for  scholarship,  mirth, 
drinking,  and  religion.  He  was  intimate  with  Sir 
Philip  Francis,^  and  gave  the  public  a  new  edition  of 
the  Horace  of  Sir  Philip's  father.  The  literary  world 
knew  him  well  also  as  the  writer  of  a  popular  novel  in 
the  genuine  Fielding  manner,  entitled  Old  Nick. 

Mr.  Du  Bois  held  his  editorship  of  the  Monthly 
Mirror  very  cheap.  He  amused  himself  with  writing 
notes  on  Athenseus,  and  was  a  lively  critic  on  the 
theatres  ;  but  half  the  jokes  in  his  magazine  were 
written  for  his  friends,  and  must  have  mystified  the 
uninitiated.  His  notices  to  correspondents  were  often 
made  up  of  this  by-play  ;  and  made  his  friends  laugh, 
in  proportion  to  their  obscurity  to  every  one  else. 
Mr.  Du  Bois  subsequently  became  a  magistrate  in  the 
Court  of  Requests  ;  and  died  the  other  day  at  an 
advanced  age,  in  spite  of  his  love  of  port.  But  then 
he  was  festive  in  good  taste  ;  no  gourmand  ;  and  had 
a  strong  head  withal.  I  do  not  know  whether  such 
men  ever  last  as  long  as  teetotallers  ;  but  they  certainly 


1'  Probably  William  King,  D.C.L.  (168.5-1763),  of  St.  Mary  Hall, 
Oxford.  Author  of  Literary  Anecdotes  of  his  own  Time,  published 
in  1818.] 

[''  John  Eachard,  D.D,  (1636-1697)  was  chosen  Master  of  Catharine 
Hall,  Cambridge,  in  1675.] 

[=*  Sir  Philip  Francis  (1740-1818),  supposed  by  many,  including 
Macaulay,  to  have  been  the  author  of  the  Letters  of  Junius.  His 
father,  Philip  Francis,  D.D.  (d.  1773),  at  one  time  kept  a  school  and 
had  Gibbon  as  a  pupil.  His  translation  of  Horace  was  issued 
in  1747,  and  Du  Bois'  edition  in  1807.  ] 

201 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

last  as  Ion<?,  and  look  a  great  deal  younger,  than  the 
carking  and  severe. 

Thoy  who  knew  Mr.  Campbell  only  as  the  author  of 
Gertrude  of  }Vyo7ning,  and  the  Pleasures  of  Iloj^e,  would 
not  have  suspected  him  to  be  a  merry  companion,  over- 
flowing with  humour  and  anecdote,  and  anything 
but  fastidious.  These  Scotch  poets  have  always  some- 
thing in  reserve.  It  is  the  only  point  in  which  the 
major  part  of  them  resemble  their  countrymen.  The 
mistaken  character  which  the  lady  formed  of  Thomson 
from  his  Seasons  is  well  known.  He  let  part  of  the 
secret  out  in  his  Castle  of  Indolence ;  and  the  more  he 
let  out,  the  more  honour  it  did  to  the  simplicity  and 
cordiality  of  the  poet's  nature,  though  not  always  to 
the  elegance  of  it.  Allan  Ramsay  knew  his  friends 
Gay  and  Somerville  as  well  in  their  writings  as  he  did 
when  he  came  to  be  personally  acquainted  with  them ; 
but  Allan,  who  had  bustled  up  from  a  barber's  shop 
into  a  bookseller's,  was  "  a  cunning  shaver ; "  and 
nobody  w^ould  have  guessed  the  author  of  the  Gentle 
Shepherd  to  be  penurious.  Let  none  svippose  that  any 
insinuation  to  that  effect  is  intended  against  Campbell. 
He  was  one  of  the  few  men  whom  I  could  at  any  time 
have  walked  half  a  dozen  miles  through  the  snow  to 
spend  an  evening  with  ;  and  I  could  no  more  do  this 
-with  a  penurious  man,  than  I  could  with  a  sulky  one. 
I  know  but  of  one  fault  he  had,  besides  an  extreme 
cautiousness  in  his  w^ritings,  and  that  one  was  national, 
a  matter  of  words,  and  amply  overpaid  by  a  stream  of 
conversation,  lively,  piquant,  and  liberal,  not  the  less 
interesting  for  occasionally  betraying  an  intimacy  with 
pain,  and  for  a  high  and  somewhat  strained  tone  of 
voice,  like  a  man  speaking  w^ith  suspended  breath,  and 
in  the  habit  of  subduing  his  feelings.  No  man  felt 
more  kindly  towards  his  fellow-creatures,  or  took  less 
credit  for  it.  "When  he  indulged  in  doubt  and  sarcasm, 
and  spoke  conteinptuously  of  things  in  general,  he  did 
it  partly,  no  doubt,  out  of  actual  dissatisfaction,  but 
more  perhaps  than  he  suspected,  out  of  a  fear  of  being 
thought  weak  and  sensitive  ;  which  is  a  blind  that  the 
best  men  very  commonly  practise.     He  professed  to  be 

202 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

hopeless  and  sarcastic,  and  took  pains  all  the  while  to  | 
set  up  a  university  (the  London).  | 

When  I  first  saw  this  eminent  person,  he  gave  iiie| 
the  idea  of  a  French  Virgil.  Not  that  he  was  like  a  |: 
Frenchman,  much  less  the  French  translator  of  Virgil.  | 
I  found  him  as  handsome  as  the  Abbe  Delille  ^  is  said  | 
to  have  been  ugly.  But  he  seemed  to  me  to  embody  i, 
a  Frenchman's  ideal  notion  of  the  Latin  poet ;  some- 1 
thing  a  little  more  cut  and  dry  than  I  had  looked! 
for  ;  compact  and  elegant,  critical  and  acute,  with  a  i;; 
consciousness  of  authorship  upon  him ;  a  taste  over-  ; 
anxious  not  to  commit  itself,  and  refining  and  diminish-  ■ 
ing  nature  as  in  a  drawing-room  mirror.  This  fancy  <j 
was  strengthened  in  the  course  of  conversation,  by  his| 
expatiating  on  the  greatness  of  Racine.  I  think  he| 
had  a  volume  of  the  French  poet  in  his  hand.  His  « 
skull  was  sharply  cut  and  fine ;  with  plenty,  according '; 
to  the  phrenologists,  both  of  the  reflective  and  amative  |v 
organs :  and  his  poetry  will  bear  them  out.  For  a  5 
lettered  solitude,  and  a  bridal  properly  got  up,  bothw 
according  to  law  and  luxury,  commend  us  to  the  lovely:^ 
Gertrude  of  Wyoming.  His  face  and  person  were| 
rather  on  a  small  scale  ;  his  features  regular  ;  his  eye| 
lively  and  penetrating  ;  and  when  he  spoke,  dimples| 
played  about  his  mouth,  which,  nevertheless,  had  some-| 
thing  restrained  and  close  in  it.  Some  gentle  puritan! 
seemed  to  have  crossed  the  breed,  and  to  have  left  a| 
stamp  on  his  face,  such  as  we  often  see  in  the  female| 
Scotch  face  rather  than  the  male.  But  he  appeared! 
not  at  all  grateful  for  this ;  and  when  his  critiques  and| 
his  Virgilianism  were  over,  very  unlike  a  puritan  he| 
talked  !  He  seemed  to  spite  his  restrictions ;  and,  ouli 
of  the  natural  largeness  of  his  sympathy  with  things| 
high  and  low,  to  break  at  once  out  of  Delille's  Virgifc 
into  Cotton's,^  like  a  boy  let  loose  from  school.  Whent 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  afterwards,  I  forgot; 
his  Virgilianisms,  and  thought  only  of  the  delightfu|; 

'i 

[1  Jacques  Delille  (1738-1813).  He  translated  the  Georgics,  the| 
uiEneid  and  Paradise  Lost.]  t 

[«  Charles  Cotton  (1630-1687),  the  author  of  the  second  part  of  the 
Complete  Angler.     He  produced  a  travesty  of  Virgil.] 

208 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

<'OTiipaiuon,  the  \inafTeettHl  philanthropist,  and  the 
rroator  of  a  beauty  worth  all  the  heroines  in  Racine. 
Campbell  tasted  pretty  sharply  of  the  good  and  ill 
of  the  present  state  of  society,  and,  for  a  bookman, 
liad  beheld  strange  sights.  He  witnessed  a  battle  in 
Germany  from  the  top  of  a  convent  (on  which  battle 
he  has  left  us  a  noble  ode)  ;  and  he  saw  the  French 
cavalry  enter  a  town,  vriping  their  bloody  swords  on 
the  horses'  manes.  He  was  in  Germany  a  second  time, 
— I  believe  to  purchase  books  ;  for  in  addition  to  his 
classical  scholarship,  and  his  other  languages,  he  was 
a.  reader  of  German.  The  readers  there,  among  whom 
he  is  popular,  both  for  his  poetry  and  his  love  of 
freedom,  crowded  about  him  with  affectionate  zeal ; 
and  they  gave  him,  what  he  did  not  dislike,  a  good 
dinner.  Like  many  of  the  great  men  in  Germany — 
Schiller,  Wieland,  and  others — he  did  not  scruple  to 
become  editor  of  a  magazine  ;  ^  and  his  name  alone 
gave  it  a  recommendation  of  the  greatest  value,  and 
such  as  made  it  a  grace  to  write  under  him. 

I  remember,   one  day  at  Sydenham,   Mr.  Theodore 
Hook  coming  in  unexpectedly  to  dinner,  and  amusing 
us  very  much  with  his  talent  at  extempore  verse.     He 
was  then  a  youth,  tall,   dark,  and  of  a  good  person, 
W'ith  small  eyes,  and  features  more  round  than  weak  ; 
a  face  that  had  character  and  humour,  but  no  refine- 
ment.    His  extempore  verses  were  really   surprising. 
It  is   easy  enough  to  extemporize  in  Italian — one  only 
wonders  how,  in  a  language  in  which  everything  con- 
spires to  render  verse-making  easy,   and  it   is  difficult 
^  to  avoid  rhyming,  this  talent  should  be  so  much  cried 
I  up — but   in    English    it   is    another    matter.       I    have 
<  known  but  one  other  person  besides  Hook,  who  could 
extemporize  in  English,  and  he  wanted  the  confidence 
'  to  do   it  in  public.      Of  course,  I   speak    of   rhyming. 
:  Extempore  blank  verse,  with  a  little  practice,  would 
;  be  found  as  easy  in  English  as  rhyming  is  in  Italian. 
;  In  Hook  the  faculty  was  very  unequivocal.     He  could 
not  have  been  pre-informed  about  all  the  visitors  on 
the  present  occasion,  still  less  of  the  subject  of  con- 
[1  The  New  Jlonildy  Magaslne.] 

204" 


LITERARY   ACQUAINTANCE 

versation  when   he  came   in,  and   he    talked   his   full 
share  till  called  upon  ;  yet  he  ran  his  jokes  and  his 
verses  upon  us  all  in  the  easiest  manner,  saying  some- 
thing characteristic  of  everybody,  or  avoiding  it  with 
a  pun  ;    and   he    introduced    so   agreeably   a   piece  of 
village  scandal  upon  which  the  party  had  been  rallying 
Campbell,  that  the  poet,  though  not  un jealous  of  his: 
dignity,    was,    perhaps,    the    most   pleased    of    us   all.;. 
Theodore  afterwards  sat  down  to  the  pianoforte,  and, 
enlarging  upon  this  subject,  made  an  extempore  parody 
of  a  modern  opera,  introducing  sailors  and  their  clap-} 
traps,    rustics,    etc.,    and   making   the    poet    and    his  ' 
supposed  flame  the  hero  and   heroine.      He  parodied 
music  as  well  as  words,  giving  us  the  most  received 
cadences  and  flourishes,  and  calling  to  mind  (not  with- 
out  some  hazard  to  his  filial  duties)  the  commonplaces  { 
of  the  pastoral  songs  and  duets  of  the  last  half-century ;  ^' 
so  that  if  Mr.  Dignum,  the  Damon  of  Vauxhall,  had;^ 
been  present,  he  would  have  doubted  whether  to  take 
it  as  an  affront  or  a  compliment.     Campbell  certainly: 
took  the  theme  of  the  parody  as  a  compliment ;  for|; 
having  drunk  a  little  more  wine  than  usual  that  even-;' 
ing,  and  happening  to  wear  a  wig  on  account  of  having} 
lost  his  hair  by  a  fever,  he  suddenly  took  off  the  wig,', 
and  dashed  it  at  the  head  of  the  performer,  exclaiming,  ^ 
"  You  dog  !  I'll  throw  my  laurels  at  you."  f, 

I  have  since  been  unable  to  help  wishing,  perhaps* 
not  very  wisely,  that  Campbell  would  have  been  a  little 
less  careful  and  fastidious  in  what  he  did  for  the  public ; 
for,  after  all,  an  author  may  reasonably  be  supposed ; 
to  do  best  that  which  he  is  most  inclined  to  do.     It  is  f 
our  business  to  be  grateful  for  what  a  poet  sets  before  > 
us,  rather  than  to  be  wishing  that  his  peaches  were  ' 
nectarines,   or  his  Falernian    champagne.       Campbell,  V 
as  an  author,  was  all  for  refinement  and  classicality,  . 
not,    however,    without   a   great   deal   of    pathos   and  < 
luxurious  fancy.      His  merry  jongleur,  Theodore  Hook, 
had  as  little  propensity,  perhaps,  as  can  be  imagined, 
to  any  of  those  niceties  :  yet  in  the   pleasure  of  re- 
collecting the  evening  which  I  passed  with  him,  I  was  ; 
unable  to  repress  a  wish,  as  little  wise  as  the  other ; 

205 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

t-o  wit,  that  lie  had  stuck  to  his  humours  and  farces, 
for  which  he  had  real  talent,  instead  of  writing  politics. 
There  was  ability  in  the  novels  which  he  subsequently 
wrote  :  but  their  worship  of  high  life  and  attacks  on 
vulgarity  were  themselves  of  the  vulgarest  description. 
Mathews,  the  comedian,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
at  Mr.  Hill's  several  times,  and  of  witnessing  his  imita- 
tions, which,  admirable  as  they  -VN'ore  on  the  stage, 
were  still  more  so  in  private.  His  wife  occasionally 
came  with  him,  with  her  handsome  eyes,  and  charit- 
ably made  tea  for  us.  Many  years  afterwards  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  at  their  o^vn  table  ;  and  I 
thought  that  while  Time,  with  unusual  courtesy,  had 
spared  the  sweet  countenance  of  the  lady,  he  had  given 
more  force  and  interest  to  that  of  the  husband  in  the 
very  ploughing  of  it  up.  Strong  lines  had  been  cut, 
and  the  face  stood  them  well.  I  had  seldom  been  more 
surprised  than  on  coming  close  to  Mathews  on  that 
occasion,  and  seeing  the  bust  which  he  possessed  in  his 
gallery  of  his  friend  Liston.  Some  of  these  comic 
actors,  like  comic  writers,  are  as  unfarcical  as  can  be 
imagined  in  their  interior.  The  taste  for  humour 
comes  to  them  by  the  force  of  contrast.  The  last  time 
I  had  seen  Mathews,  his  face  appeared  to  me  insignifi- 
cant to  what  it  was  then.  On  the  former  occasion, 
he  looked  like  an  irritable  in-door  pet ;  on  the  latter, 
he  seemed  to  have  been  grappling  with  the  w^orld,  and 
to  have  got  vigour  by  it.  His  face  had  looked  out 
upon  the  Atlantic,  and  said  to  the  old  waves,  "  Buffet 
on  ;  I  have  seen  trouble  as  well  as  you."  The  paralytic 
affection,  or  whatever  it  was,  that  twisted  his  mouth 
when  young,  had  formerly  appeared  to  be  master  of 
his  face,  and  given  it  a  character  of  indecision  and 
alarm.  It  now  seemed  a  minor  thing  ;  a  twist  in  a 
piece  of  old  oak.  And  what  a  bust  was  Liston's  !  The 
mouth  and  chin,  with  the  throat  under  it,  hung  like 
an  old  bag  ;  but  the  upper  part  of  the  head  w^as  as 
fine  as  possible.  There  was  a  speculation,  a  look-out, 
and  even  an  elevation  of  character  in  it,  as  unlike  the 
Liston  on  the  stage,  as  Lear  is  to  King  Pippin.  One 
might  imagine  Laberius  to  have  had  such  a  face. 

206 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

The  reasons  why  Mathews'  imitations  were  still! 
better  in  private  than  in  public  were,  that  he  was  | 
more  at  his  ease  personally,  more  secure  of  his  audience  | 
("  fit  though  few "),  and  able  to  interest  them  with  | 
traits  of  private  character,  which  could  not  have  been  | 
introduced  on  the  stage.  He  gave,  for  instance,  to  | 
persons  who  he  thought  could  take  it  rightly,  a  picture  | 
of  the  manners  and  conversation  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  |. 
highly  creditable  to  that  celebrated  person,  and  calcu-  y, 
lated  to  add  regard  to  admiration.  His  commonest  v. 
imitations  were  not  superficial.  Something  of  the  ;v 
mind  and  character  of  the  individual  was  always  in-  | 
sinuated,  often  with  a  dramatic  dressing  and  plenty  | 
of  sauce  piquante.  At  Sydenham  he  used  to  give  us  | 
a  dialogue  among  the  actors,  each  of  whom  found  fault  5 
with  another  for  some  defect  or  excess  of  his  own —  f 
Kemble  objecting  to  stiffness,  Munden  to  grimace,  and  ? 
so  on.  His  representation  of  Incledon  was  extra- 1 
ordinary  :  his  nose  seemed  actually  to  become  aquiline.  | 
It  is  a  pity  I  cannot  put  upon  j^aper,  as  represented  | 
by  Mr.  Mathews,  the  singular  gabblings  of  that  actor,  ;^ 
the  lax  and  sailor-like  twist  of  mind,  with  which  every-  |; 
thing  hung  upon  him ;  and  his  profane  pieties  in  i- 
quoting  the  Bible  ;  for  which,  and  swearing,  he  seemed  | 
to  have  an  equal  reverence.  He  appeared  to  be  charit-  |; 
able  to  everybody  but  Braham.  He  would  be  described  | 
as  saying  to  his  friend  Holman,^  for  instance,  "  My  n 
dear  George,  don't  be  abusive,  George  ; — don't  insult,  <;'• 
— don't  be  indecent,  by  G — d  !  You  should  take  the  | 
beam  out  of  your  own  eye, — what  the  devil  is  it — you  | 
know — in  the  Bible  ?  something  "  (the  a  very  broad)  j 
"about  a  beam,  my  dear  George!  and — and — and  a' 
mote  ; — you'll  find  it  in  any  part  of  the  Bible :  yes,  • 
George,  my  dear  boy,  the  Bible,  by  G — d  "(and  then  j 
with  real  fervour  and  reverence),  "  the  Holy  Scripture, } 
G — d  d —  me  ! "  He  swore  as  dreadfully  as  a  devout 
knight-errant.  Braham,  whose  trumpet  blew  down 
his  wooden  walls,  he  could  not  endure.  He  is  repre- 
sented as  saying  one  day,  with  a  strange  mixture  of 

[*  Joseph  George  Holman  (1764-1817),  actor  and  dramatist.] 

207 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

imagination  and  matter-of-fact,  that  "  he  only  wished 
his  beloved  master,  Mr.  Jackson,  could  come  down 
from  heaven  and  take  the  Exeter  stage  to  London 
to  hear  that  d — d  Jew  ! " 

As  Hook  made  extempore  verses  on  us,  so  Mathews 
one  day  gave  an  extempore  imitation  of  us  all  round, 
with  the  exception  of  a  young  theatrical  critic  {videlicet, 
myself),  in  whose  appearance  and  manner  he  pro- 
nounced that  there  was  no  handle  for  mimicry.  This, 
in  all  probability,  was  intended  as  a  politeness  towards 
a  comparative  stranger,  but  it  might  have  been  policy ; 
and  the  laughter  was  not  missed  by  it.  At  all  events, 
the  critic  was  both  good-humoured  enough,  and  at 
that  time  self-satisfied  enough,  to  have  borne  the 
mimicry  ;  and  no  harm  would  have  come  of  it. 

One  morning,  after  stopping  all  night  at  this  pleasant 
house,  I  was  getting  up  to  breakfast  when  I  heard  the 
noise  of  a  little  boy  having  his  face  washed.  Our  host 
was  a  merry  bachelor,  and  to  the  rosiness  of  a  priest 
might,  for  aught  I  knew,  have  added  the  paternity ; 
but  I  had  never  heard  of  it,  and  still  less  expected  to 
find  a  child  in  his  house.  More  obvious  and  obstrep- 
erous proofs,  however,  of  the  existence  of  a  boy  with 
a  dirty  face  could  not  have  been  met  with.  You  heard 
the  child  crying  and  objecting  ;  then  the  woman  re- 
monstrating ;  then  the  cries  of  the  child  snubbed  and 
swallowed  up  in  the  hard  towel ;  and  at  intervals  out 
came  his  voice  bubbling  and  deploring  and  was  again 
swallowed  up.  At  breakfast,  the  child  being  pitied, 
I  ventured  to  speak  about  it,  and  was  laughing  and 
sympathizing  in  perfect  good  faith,  when  Mathews 
came  in,  and  I  found  that  the  little  urchin  was  he. 

The  same  morning  he  gave  us  his  immortal  imitation 
of  old  Tate  Wilkinson,  patentee  of  the  York  Theatre. 
Tate  had  been  a  little  too  merry  in  his  youth,  and  was 
very  melancholy  in  old  age.  He  had  a  wandering 
mind  and  a  decrepit  body ;  and  being  manager  of  a 
theatre,  a  husband,  and  a  ratcatcher,  he  would  speak, 
j;in  his  wanderings,  "  variety  of  wretchedness."  He 
Hvould  interweave,  for  instance,  all  at  once,  the  subjects 
of  a  new  engagement  at  his  theatre,  the  rats,  a  veal- 

208 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

pie,  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  Mrs.  Tate  and  thei 
doctor.     I  do  not  pretend  to  give  a  specimen  :  Mathews  | 
alone  could  have   done  it ;    but  one  trait  I  recollect,  \ 
descriptive  of  Tate  himself,  which   will   give   a   goodi 
notion  of  him.     On  coming  into  the  room,  Mathews  | 
assumed  the  old  manager's  appearance,  and  proceeded  * 
towards  the  window  to  reconnoitre  the  state  of  the; 
weather,  which  was  a  matter  of  great  importance  to^ 
him.     His  hat  was  like  a  hat  worn  the  wrong  way,  5 
side   foremost,   looking    sadly   crinkled   and   old ;    his  * 
mouth  was  desponding,  his  eye  staring,  and  his  whole  I 
aspect  meagre,  querulous,  and  prepared  for  objection,  i 
This  miserable  object,  grunting  and  hobbling,  and  help-  , 
ing  himself  with  everything  he  can  lay  hold  of  as  he 
goes,  creeps  up  to  the  window  ;  and,  giving  a  glance 
at  the  clouds,  turns  round  with  an  ineffable  look  of 
despair  and  acquiescence,  ejaculating,  "  Uh  Christ ! "       t 
Of  James  Smith,  a  fair,  stout,  fresh-coloured  man,  I 
with  round  features,  I  recollect  little,  except  that  he  i 
used  to  read  to  us  trim  verses,  with  rhymes  as  pat  as } 
butter.      The   best  of  his  verses    are   in   the   Rejected } 
Addresses^ — and   they   are   excellent.     Isaac  Hawkins  I 
Browne,-  with  his  Pipe  of  Tobacco,  and  all  the  rhyming  1 
jeux-desprit  in  all  the  Tracts,  are  extinguished  in  the  ' 
comparison ;    not   excepting    the   Probationary    Odes. 
Mr.  Fitzgerald  found  himself  bankrupt  in  non  sequiturs ; 
Crabbe  could  hardly  have    known  which  was  which, 
himself  or  his  parodist ;  and  Lord  Byron  confessed  to  me 
that  the  summing  up  of  his  philosophy,  to  wit,  that 
"  Nought  is  everything,  and  everything  is  nought," 

was  very  posing.  Mr.  Smith  would  sometimes  repeat 
after  dinner,  with  his  brother  Horace,  an  imaginary 
dialogue,  stuffed  full  of  incongruities,  that  made  us  roll 
with  laughter.     His  ordinary  verse  and  prose  were  too 

['  Rejected  Addresses,  1812.  The  fii'st  piece  in  the  book,  entitled 
"Loyal  Effusion,"  burlesques  the  verse  of  William  Thomas  Fitz- 
gerald (1759-1829),  whose  name  also  appears  in  the  opening  line  of 
English  Bards  and  Scotch  Revietcers,  1809 : — 

"Still  must  I  hear  ?— shall  hoarse  Fitzgerald  bawl 
His  creaking  couplets  in  a  tavern  hall."] 
[2  Isaac  Hawkins  Browne  (1705-6-1760).    In  A  Pipe  of  Tobacco,  he 
imitates  the  style  of  Gibber,  Thomson,  Young,  Pope  and  Swift.] 

209  P 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

full  of  the  ridicule  of  city  pretensions.  To  be  superior  to 
■anything  it  should  not  always  be  running  in  one's  head. 

4  His  brother  Horace  was  delicious.  Lord  Byron  used 
to  say  that  this  epithet  should  be  applied  only  to 
•eatables ;  and  that  he  wondered  a  friend  of  his  (I 
forget  who)  that  was  critical  in  matters  of  eating 
should  use  it  in  any  other  sense.     I  know  not  what 

;the  present  usage  may  be  in  the  circles,  but  classical 
'authority  is  against  his  lordship,  from  Cicero  down- 
wards ;  and  I  am  content  with  the  modern  warrant 
of  another  noble  wit,  the  famous  Lord  Peterborough, 
,  who,  in  his  fine,   open  way,  said  of  Fenelon,   that  he 
Iwas  such  a  "  delicious  creature,  he  was  forced  to  get 
away  from  him,  else  he  would  have  made  him  pious  !  " 
I  grant  there  is  something  in  the  word  delicious  which 
may  be  said  to  comprise  a  reference  to  every  species 
of  pleasant  taste.     It  is  at  once  a  quintessence  and  a 
compound  ;  and  a  friend,  to  deserve  the  epithet,  ought, 
perhaps,  to  be  capable  of  delighting  us  as  much  over 
our  wine  as  on    graver   occasions.      Fenelon   himself 
could  do  this  with  all  his  piety ;  or  rather  he  could  do 
it  because  his  piety  was  of  the  true  sort,  and  relished 
of  everything   that   was    sweet   and   affectionate.      A 
finer  nature  than  Horace  Smith's,  except  in  the  single 
instance  of  Shelley,   I  never  met  with  in   man  ;    nor 
5;  even  in   that   instance,    all   circumstances    considered, 
ihave  I  a  right  to  say  that  those  who  knew  him   as 

5  intimately  as  I  did  the  other,  would  not  have  had  the 
jsame  reasons  to  love  him.^  Shelley  himself  had  the 
i  highest  regard  for  Horace  Smith,  as  may  be  seen  by 
Ithe  following  verses,  the  initials  in  which  the  reader 

has  here  the  pleasure  of  filling  up  : — 

J  "  Wit  and  sense, 

'  Virtue  and  hnnian  knowledge,  all  that  might 

Make  this  dark  world  a  business  of  delight, 

Are  all  combined  in  H.  S."  ^ 

('  In  writing  to  Horace  Smith  in  1847,  Hunt  says,  "  You  were  the 
friend  of  all  others  whom  I  loved  best  next  to  Shelley,  and,  since 
the  death  of  Shelley,  has  occupied  the  first  living  place  in  my 
heart."] 

[*  Prom  Letter  to  Maria  Gifihorne,  published  in  Shelley's  Pos</iwm- 
oiis  Poems,  1824.] 

210 


,y^£^te>u-  i-Ayu:hme'  ,.Jne/^^ 


!^Ao<i.  4)^/4,1  H/.iS^urad. 


LITERARY   ACQUAINTANCE 

Horace  Smith  differed  with  Shelley  on  some  points ; 
but  on  others,  which  all  the  world  agree  to  praise  highly 
and  to  practise  very  little,  he  agreed  so  entirely,  and 
showed  unequivocally  that  he  did  agree,  that  with  the 
exception  of  one  person  (Vincent  Novello),  too  diffident 
to  gain  such  an  honour  from  his  friends,  they  were  the 
only  two  men  I  had  then  met  with,  from  whom  I  could 
have  received  and  did  receive  advice  or  remonstrancei 
with  perfect  comfort,  because  I  could  be  sure  of  the  un- 
mixed motives  and  entire  absence  of  self-reflection, 
with  which  it  would  come  from  them.^  Shelley  said  to 
me  once,  "  I  know  not  what  Horace  Smith  must  take 
me  for  sometimes :  I  am  afraid  he  must  think  me  a 
strange  fellow  :  but  is  it  not  odd,  that  the  only  truly 
generous  person  I  ever  knew,  who  had  money  to  be 
generous  with,  should  be  a  stockbroker !  And  he  writes 
poetry  too,"  continued  Shelley,  his  voice  rising  in  a 
fervour  of  astonishment — "  he  writes  poetry  and  pas- 
toral dramas,  and  yet  knows  how  to  make  money,  and 
does  make  it,  and  is  still  generous ! "  Shelley  had 
reason  to  like  him.  Horace  Smith  was  one  of  the  few 
men,  who,  through  a  cloud  of  detraction,  and  through 
all  that  difference  of  conduct  from  the  rest  of  the  world 
which  naturally  excites  obloquy,  discerned  the  great* 
ness  of  my  friend's  character.  Indeed,  he  became  a 
witness  to  a  very  unequivocal  proof  of  it,  w^hich  I  shall 
mention  by-and-by.  The  mutual  esteem  was  accords 
ingly  very  great,  and  arose  from  circumstances  mos| 
honourable  to  both  parties.  "  I  believe,"  said  Shelley 
on  another  occasion,  "  that  I  have  only  to  say  to  Horace; 
Smith  that  I  want  a  hundred  pounds  or  two,  and  he 
would  send  it  me  w^ithout  any  eye  to  its  being  returned  i 
such  faith  has  he  that  I  have  something  within  me  be-l 
yond  what  the  world  supposes,  and  that  I  could  only  ask 
his  money  for  a  good  purpose."  And  Shelley  would 
have  sent  for  it  accordingly,  if  the  person  for  whom  it 
was  intended  had  not  said  Nay.     I  will  now  mention 

'  Notwithstanding  his  caprices  of  temper,  I  must  add  Hazlitt, 
who  was  quite  capable,  when  he  chose,  of  giving  genuine  advice, 
and  making  you  sensible  of  his  disinterestedness.  Lamb  could  have 
done  it,  too  ;  but  for  interference  of  any  sort  he  had  an  abhorrence. 

211 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH  HUNT 

the  circumstance  which  first  gave  my  friend  a  regard 
for  Horace  Smith.  It  concerns  the  person  just  men- 
tioned, who  is  a  man  of  letters.  It  came  to  Mr.  Smith's 
knowledge,  many  years  ago,  that  this  person  was  suffer- 
ing under  a  pecuniary  trouble.  He  knew  little  of  him 
at  the  time,  but  had  met  him  occasionally ;  and  he 
availed  himself  of  this  circumstance  to  write  him  a 
letter  as  full  of  delicacy  and  cordiality  as  it  could  hold, 
making  it  a  matter  of  grace  to  accept  a  bank-note  of 
lOOZ.,  which  he  enclosed.  I  speak  on  the  best  authority, 
that  of  the  obliged  person  himself ;  who  adds  that  he 
not  only  did  accept  the  money,  but  felt  as  light  and 
happy  under  the  obligation,  as  he  has  felt  miserable 
under  the  very  report  of  being  obliged  to  some  ;  and  he 
says  that  nothing  could  induce  him  to  withhold  his 
name,  but  a  reason  which  the  generous,  during  his  life- 
time, would  think  becoming. 

I  have  said  that  Horace  Smith  was  a  stockbroker. 
He  left  business  with  a  fortune,  and  went  to  live  in 
France,  where,  if  he  did  not  increase,  he  did  not  seri- 
ously diminish  it ;  and  France  added  to  the  pleasant 
stock  of  his  knowledge. 

On  returning  to  England,  he  set  about  exerting  him- 
self in  a  manner  equally  creditable  to  his  talents  and 
interesting  to  the  public.  I  would  not  insult  either  the 
modesty  or  the  understanding  of  my  friend  while  he 
was  alive,  by  comparing  him  with  the  author  of  Old 
Mortality  and  Guy  Mannering :  but  I  ventured  to  say, 
and  I  repeat,  that  the  earliest  of  his  novels,  Brainhletye 
House,  ran  a  hard  race  with  the  novel  of  Woodstock, 
and  that  it  contained  more  than  one  character  not  un- 
worthy of  the  best  volumes  of  Sir  Walter.  I  allude  to 
the  ghastly  troubles  of  the  Regicide  in  his  lone  house ; 
the  outward  phlegm  and  merry  inward  malice  of  Winky 
Boss  (a  happy  name),  who  gravely  smoked  a  pipe  with 
his  mouth,  and  laughed  with  his  eyes ;  and,  above  all, 
to  the  character  of  the  princely  Dutch  merchant,  who 
would  cry  out  that  he  should  be  ruined,  at  seeing  a  few 
nutmegs  dropped  from  a  bag,  and  then  go  and  give  a 
thousand  ducats  for  an  antique.  This  is  hitting  the 
high  mercantile  character  to  a  nicety — minute  and  care- 

212 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

fill  in  its  means,  princely  in  its  ends.  If  the  ultimate 
effect  of  commerce  {jper^nulti  translbunt,  etc.)  were  not 
something  very  different  from  what  its  pursuers 
imagine,  the  character  would  be  a  dangerous  one  to 
society  at  large,  because  it  throws  a  gloss  over  the  spirit 
of  money-getting  ;  but,  meanwhile,  nobody  could  paint 
it  better,  or  has  a  greater  right  to  recommend  it,  than 
he  who  has  been  the  first  to  make  it  a  handsome  por- 
trait. ' 

The  personal  appearance  of  Horace  Smith,  like  that 
of  most  of  the  individuals  I  have  met  with,  was  highly 
indicative  of  his  character.  His  figure  was  good  and 
manly,  inclining  to  the  robust ;  and  his  countenance 
extremely  frank  and  cordial ;  sweet  without  weakness. 
I  have  been  told  he  was  irascible.  If  so,  it  must  have 
been  no  common  offence  that  could  have  irritated  him. 
He  had  not  a  jot  of  it  in  his  appearance.  ; 

Another  set  of  acquaintances  which  I  made  at  thii^ 
time  used  to  assemble  at  the  hospitable  table  of  Mr. 
Hunter^  the  bookseller,  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  They 
were  the  survivors  of  the  literary  party  that  were  acr 
customed  to  dine  with  his  predecessor,  Mr.  Johnson. 
They  came,  as  of  old,  on  the  Friday.  The  most  regular 
were  Fuseli^  and  Bonny  castle.'^  Now  and  then,  God- 
win* was  present :  oftener  Mr.  Kinnaird  the  magis^ 
trate,  a  great  lover  of  Horace.  ■ 

Fuseli  was  a  small  man,  with  energetic  features,  and 
a  white  head  of  hair.  Our  host's  daughter,  then  a  little 
girl,  used  to  call  him  the  white-headed  lion.  He  combed 
his  hair  up  from  the  forehead  ;  and  as  his  whiskers 
were  large,  his  face  was  set  in  a  kind  of  hairy  frame, 
which,  in  addition  to  the  fierceness  of  his  look,  really 
gave  him  an  aspect  of  that  sort.  Otherwise,  his  fea- 
tures were  rather  sharp  than  round.  He  w^ould  have 
looked  much  like  an  old  military  officer,  if  his  face,  be- 
sides its  real  energy,  had  not  affected  more.     There 

['  Mr.  Rowland  Hunter.  See  Thornton  Hunt's  note,  vol.  I.,  p.  231.] 
[-  Henry  Fiiseli  (1741-1825),  Professor  of  Painting  at  the  Royal 
Aciideniy.] 
[^  John  Bonny  castle  (1750  P-1821),  a  celebrated  mathematician.] 
[*  William  Godwin  (1756-183C),  the  novelist  and  philosopher.] 

213 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

/was  the  same  defect  in  it  as  in  his  pictures.  Conscious 
'  of  not  having  all  the  strength  he  wished,  he  endeav- 
oured to  make  up  for  it  by  violence  and  pretension. 
He  carried  this  so  far,  as  to  look  fiercer  than  usvial 
when  he  sat  for  his  picture.  His  friend  and  engraver, 
Mr.  Haughtou,^  drew  an  admirable  likeness  of  him  in 
this  state  of  dignified  extravagance.  He  is  sitting  back 
in  his  chair,  leaning  on  his  hand,  but  looking  ready  to 
pounce  withal.  His  notion  of  repose  was  like  that  of 
Pistol  : 

"Now,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap."- 

Agreeably  to  this  over-wrought  manner,  he  was 
reckoned,  I  believe,  not  quite  so  bold  as  he  might  have 
been.  He  painted  horrible  pictures,  as  children  tell 
horrible  stories  ;  and  was  frightened  at  his  own  lay- 
figures.  Yet  he  would  hardly  have  talked  as  he  did 
about  his  terrors,  had  he  been  as  timid  as  some  sup- 
posed him.  With  the  affected,  impression  is  the  main 
thing,  let  it  be  produced  how  it  may.  A  student  of  the 
Academy  told  me  that  Mr.  Fuseli  coming  in  one  night 
when  a  solitary  candle  had  been  put  on  the  floor  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  to  produce  some  effect  or  other,  he 
said  it  looked  "  like  a  damned  soul."  This  was  by  way 
of  being  Dantesque,  as  Michael  Angelo  w^as.  Fuseli 
was  an  ingenious  caricaturist  of  that  master,  making 
great  bodily  displays  of  mental  energy,  and  being  osten- 
tatious with  his  limbs  and  muscles,  in  proportion  as  he 
could  not  draw  them.  A  leg  or  an  arm  was  to  be 
thrust  down  one's  throat,  because  he  knew  we  should 
dispute  the  truth  of  it.  In  the  indulgence  of  this  wil- 
fulness of  purpose,  generated  partly  by  impatience  of 
study,  partly  by  want  of  sufficient  genius,  and  no  doubt, 
also,  by  a  sense  of  superiority  to  artists  who  could  do 
nothing  but  draw  correctly,  he  cared  for  no  time,  place, 
or  circumstance  in  his  j)ictures.     A  set  of  prints,  after 

[1  Moses  Haughton,  born  in  1772,  and  an  exhibitor  at  the  Royal 
Academy  till  1848.  He  lived  with  Fuseli  for  some  time  and 
engraved  much  of  his  work.] 

['■'  "Then,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap." 

2nd  UetDV/  IV.  v.  3.] 

214 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

his  designs,  for  Shakspeare  and  Cowper,  exhibit  a  chaosi 
of  mingled  genius  and  absurdity,  such  as,  perhaps,  waaj 
never  before  seen.  He  endeavoured  to  bring  Michae| 
Angelo's  apostles  and  propiiets,  with  their  superhuman' 
ponderousness  of  intention,  into  the  commonplaces  of 
modern  life.  A  student  reading  in  a  garden,  is  all  over 
intensity  of  muscle  ;  and  the  quiet  tea-table  scene  in; 
Cowper,  he  has  turned  into  a  preposterous  conspiracy; 
of  huge  men  and  women,  all  bent  on  showing  their 
thews  and  postures,  with  dresses  as  fantastical  as  their 
minds.  One  gentleman,  of  the  existence  of  whose 
trousers  you  are  not  aware  till  you  see  the  terminating 
line  at  the  ankle,  is  sitting  and  looking  grim  on  a  sofa, 
with  his  hat  on  and  no  waistcoat.  Yet  there  is  real 
genius  in  his  designs  for  Milton,  though  disturbed,  as 
usual,  by  strainings  after  the  energetic.  His  most  ex- 
traordinary mistake,  after  all,  is  said  to  have  been  on 
the  subject  of  his  colouring.  It  was  a  sort  of  livid 
green,  like  brass  diseased.  Yet  they  say,  that  when 
praised  for  one  of  his  pictures,  he  would  modestly  ob- 
serve, "  It  is  a  pretty  colour."  This  might  have  been 
thought  a  jest  on  his  part,  if  remarkable  stories  were 
not  told  of  the  mistakes  made  by  other  people  with 
regard  to  colour.  Sight  seems  the  least  agreed  upon  of 
all  the  senses. 

Fuseli  was  lively  and  interesting  in  conversation,  bufc 
not  without  his  usual  faults  of  violence  and  pretension. 
Nor  was  he  always  as  decorous  as  an  old  man  ought  td, 
be  ;  especially  one  whose  turn  of  mind  is  not  of  th^ 
lighter  and  more  pleasurable  cast.  The  licences  he  took] 
were  coarse,  and  had  not  sufficient  regard  to  his  com-j; 
pany.  Certainly  they  went  a  great  deal  beyond  hisj 
friend  Armstrong  ;  ^  to  whose  account,  I  believe,  Fuseli's 
passion  for  swearing  was  laid.  The  poet  condescended^ 
to  be  a  great  swearer,  and  Fuseli  thought  it  energetic- 
to  swear  like  him.  His  friendship  with  Bonnycastle 
had  something  childlike  and  agreeable  in  it.  They  came 
and  went  away  together  for  years,  like  a  couple  of  old 
schoolboys.     They  also,  like  boys,  rallied  one  another, 

[1  John  Armstrong,  M.D.  (1709-1779),  author  of  the  Art  of  Pre- 
serving Health  and  other  poems.] 

21.5 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

and  sometimes  made  a  singular  display  of  it — Fuseli,  at 
least ;  for  it  was  he  that  was  the  aggressor. 

Bonnyeastle  was  a  good  fellow.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt, 
long-headed  man,  with  large  features  and  spectacles, 
and  a  deep  internal  voice,  with  a  twang  of  rusticity  in 
it ;  and  he  goggled  over  his  j^late,  like  a  horse.  I  often 
thought  that  a  bag  of  corn  would  have  hung  well  on 
him.  His  laugh  was  equine,  and  showed  his  teeth  up- 
wards at  the  sides.  Wordsworth,  who  notices  similar 
mysterious  manifestations  on  the  part  of  donkeys,  would 
have  thought  it  ominous.  Bonnyeastle  was  extremely 
fond  of  quoting  Shakspeare  and  telling  stories  ;  and  if 
the  Edinburgh  Revieio  had  just  come  out,  would  give  us 
all  the  jokes  in  it.  He  had  once  a  hypochondriacal 
disorder  of  long  duration ;  and  he  told  us,  that  he 
should  never  forget  the  comfortable  sensation  given 
him  one  night  during  this  disorder  by  his  knocking  a 
landlord  that  was  insolent  to  him  down  the  man's  stair- 
case. On  the  strength  of  this  piece  of  energy  (having 
first  ascertained  that  the  offender  was  not  killed)  he 
went  to  bed,  and  had  a  sleep  of  unusual  soundness. 
Perhaps  Bonnyeastle  thought  more  highly  of  his  talents 
than  the  amount  of  them  strictly  warranted  ;  a  mistake 
to  which  scientific  men  appear  to  be  more  liable  than 
others,  the  universe  they  work  in  being  so  large,  and 
their  universality  (in  Bacon's  sense  of  the  word)  being 
often  so  small.  But  the  delusion  was  not  only  pardon- 
able, but  desirable,  in  a  man  so  zealous  in  the  perform- 
ance of  his  duties,  and  so  much  of  a  human  being  to  all 
about  him  as  Bonnyeastle  was.  It  was  delightful  one 
day  to  hear  him  speak  with  complacency  of  a  transla- 
tion which  had  appeared  of  one  of  his  books  in  Arabic, 
and  which  began  by  saying,  on  the  part  of  the  transla- 
tor, that  "  it  had  pleased  God,  for  the  advancement  of 
human  knowledge,  to  raise  us  up  a  Bonnyeastle."  Some 
of  his  stories  were  a  little  romantic,  and  no  less  authen- 
tic. He  had  an  anecdote  of  a  Scotchman  who  boasted 
of  being  descended  from  the  Admirable  Crichton  ;  in 
proof  of  which  the  Scotchman  said  he  had  "  a  grit  quan- 
tity of  table-leenen  in  his  possassion,  marked  A.  C, 
Admirable  Creechton." 

216 


LITERARY  ACQUAINTANCE 

Kinnaird,  the  magistrate,  was  a  sanguine  man,  under 
the  middle  height,  with  a  fine  lamping  black  eye,  lively 
to  the  last,  and  a  body  that  "had  increased,  was  in- 
creasing, and  ought  to  have  been  diminished  ;  "  which 
is  by  no  means  what  he  thought  of  the  prerogative. 
Next  to  his  bottle  he  was  fond  of  his  Horace  ;  and,  in 
the  intervals  of  business  at  the  police-office,  would  enjoy 
both  in  his  arm-chair.  Between  the  vulgar  calls  of 
this  kind  of  magistracy,  and  the  perusal  of  the  urbane 
Horace,  there  must  have  been  a  gusto  of  contradiction, 
which  the  bottle,  perhaps,  was  required  to  render  quite 
palatable.  Fielding  did  not  love  his  bottle  the  less  for 
])eing  obliged  to  lecture  the  drunken.  Nor  did  his  son, 
who  succeeded  him  in  taste  and  office.  I  know  not 
how  a  former  poet-laureate,  Mr.  Pye,^  managed, — another 
man  of  letters,  who  was  fain  to  accept  a  situation  of 
this  kind.  Having  been  a  man  of  fortune  and  a  mem- 
ber of  Parliament,  and  loving  his  Horace  to  boot,  he 
could  hardly  have  done  without  his  wine.  I  saw  him 
once  in  a  state  of  scornful  indignation  at  being  inter- 
rupted in  the  perusal  of  a  manuscript  by  the  monitions 
of  his  police-officers,  who  were  obliged  to  remind  him 
over  and  over  again  that  he  was  a  magistrate,  and  that 
the  criminal  multitude  were  in  waiting.  Every  time 
the  door  opened  he  threatened  and  implored. 

"  Otium  divos  rogat  in  patenti 
Prensus  yEgaeo." 

Had  you  quoted  this  to  Mr.  Kinnaird,  his  eyes  would 
have  sparkled  with  good-fellowship  :  he  would  have 
finished  the  verse  and  the  bottle  with  you,  and  pro- 
<'eeded  to  as  many  more  as  your  head  could  stand. 
Poor  fellow !  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  an  appar- 
ition formidably  substantial.  The  door  of  our  host's 
dining-room  opened  without  my  hearing  it,  and,  hap- 
pening to  turn  round,  I  saw  a  figure  in  a  great  coat 
literally  almost  as  broad  as  it  was  long,  and  scarcely 
able  to  articulate.  He  was  dying  of  a  dropsy,  and  was 
obliged  to  revive  himself  before  he  was  fit  to  converse 

[•  Henry  Jamos  Pye  (1745-1813).  He  succeeded  Thomas  Warton 
as  laureate  in  1790  and  in  1792  was  appointed  a  London  police 
magistrate.] 

217 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

by  the  wine  that  was  killing  him.  But  he  had  cares 
besides,  and  cares  of  no  ordinary  description ;  and,  for 
my  part,  I  will  not  blame  even  his  wine  for  killing  him 
unless  his  cares  could  have  done  it  more  agreeably. 
After  dinner  that  day  he  was  comparatively  himself 
again,  quoted  his  Horace  as  usual,  talked  of  lords  and 
courts  with  a  relish,  and  begged  that  God  save  the  King 
might  be  played  to  him  on  the  pianoforte  ;  to  which  he 
listened  as  if  his  soul  had  taken  its  hat  off.  I  believe 
he  would  have  liked  to  die  to  God  save  the  King,  and  to 
have  "  waked  and  found  those  visions  true." 


X 


CHAPTER  XI 

POLITICAL  CHARACTERS 

[1808-1812] 

*HE  Examiner  had  been  set  up  towards  the  close 
X  of  the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  three  years 
before  the  appointment  of  the  regency.  Pitt  ^  and  Fox 
had  died  two  years  before  ;  the  one,  in  middle  life,  of 
constant  ill-success,  preying  on  a  sincere  but  proud, 
and  not  very  large  mind,  and  unwisely  supported  by  a 
habit  of  drinking  ;  the  other,  of  older  but  more  genial 
habits  of  a  like  sort,  and  of  demands  beyond  his 
strength  by  a  sudden  accession  to  office.  The  king — a 
conscientious  but  narrow-minded  man,  obstinate  to  a 
degree  (which  had  lost  him  America),  and  not  always 
dealing  ingenuously,  even  with  his  advisers — had  lately 
got  rid  of  Mr.  Fox's  successors,  on  account  of  their 
urging  the  Catholic  claims.  He  had  summoned  to 
office  in  their  stead  Lords  Castlereagh,  Liverpool,  and 
others,  who  had  been  the  clerks  of  Mr.  Pitt ;  and 
Bonaparte  was  at  the  height  of  his  power  as  French 
Emperor,  setting  his  brothers  on  thrones,  and  compel- 

[1  William  Pitt  died  on  January  23,  1806,  and  Charles  James  Fox 
on  September  13,  1806.] 

218 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

ling  our  Russian  and  German  allies  to  side  with  him 
under  the  most  mortifying  circumstances  of  tergiver- 
sation. 

It  is  a  melancholy  period  for  the  potentates  of  the 
earth  when  they  fancy  themselves  obliged  to  resort 
to  the  shabbiest  measures  of  the  feeble ;  siding  against 
a  friend  with  his  enemy  ;  joining  in  accusations  against 
him  at  the  latter's  dictation  ;  believed  by  nobody  on 
either  side ;  returning  to  the  friend,  and  retreating 
from  him,  according  to  the  fortunes  of  war  ;  secretly 
hoping  that  the  friend  will  excuse  them  by  reason  of 
the  pauper's  plea,  necessity  ;  and  at  no  time  able  to 
give  better  apologies  for  their  conduct  than  those 
"  mysterious  ordinations  of  Providence  "  which  are  the 
last  refuge  of  the  destitute  in  morals,  and  a  reference 
to  which  they  contemptuously  deny  to  the  thief  and 
the  "king's  evidence."  It  proves  to  them,  "with  a 
vengeance,"  the  "  something  rotten  in  the  state  of 
Denmark  ; "  and  will  continue  to  prove  it,  and  to  be 
despicable,  whether  in  bad  or  good  fortune,  till  the 
world  find  out  a  cure  for  the  rottenness. 

Yet  this  is  what  the  allies  of  England  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  through  the  whole  contest  of  England 
with  France.  When  England  succeeded  in  getting  up 
a  coalition  against  Napoleon,  they  denounced  him  for 
his  ambition,  and  set  out  to  fight  him.  When  the 
coalition  was  broken  by  his  armies,  they  turned  round 
at  his  bidding,  denounced  England,  and  joined  him  in 
fighting  against  their  ally.  And  this  was  the  round 
of  their  history  :  a  coalition  and  a  tergiversation  alter- 
nately ;  now  a  speech  and  a  fight  against  Bonaparte, 
who  beat  them ;  then  a  speech  and  fight  against  Eng- 
land, who  bought  them  off;  then,  again,  a  speech 
and  a  fight  against  Bonaparte,  who  beat  them  again ; 
and  then,  as  before,  a  speech  and  fight  against  Eng- 
land, who  again  bought  them  off.  Meanwhile,  they 
took  everything  they  could  get,  whether  from  enemy 
or  friend,  seizing,  with  no  less  greediness  whatever  bits 
of  territory  Bonaparte  threw  to  them  for  their  mean- 
ness, then  pocketing  the  millions  of  Pitt,  for  which  wo 
are  paying  to  this  day. 

219 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

It  becomes  us  to  bow,  and  to  bow  humbly,  to  the 
."  mysterious  dispensations  of  Providence;"  but  in  fur- 
ftherance  of  those  very  dispensations,  it  has  jjleased 
;f^ Providence  so  to  constitute  us,  as  to  render  us  incaj)- 
i^jable  of  admiring  such  conduct,  whether  in  king's  evi- 
{jdences  or  in  kings  ;  and  some  of  the  meanest  figures 
I  that  present  themselves  to  the  imagination,  in  looking 
Iback  on  the  events  of  those  times,  are  the  Emperors  of 
^Austria  and  Russia,  and  the  King  of  Prussia.  It  is 
^salutary  to  bear  this  in  mind,  for  the  sake  of  royalty 
^Sitself.  What  has  since  ruined  Louis  Philippe,^  in  spite 
jof  all  his  ability,  is  his  confounding  royal  privileges 
|\vith  base  ones,  and  his  not  keeping  his  word  as  a 
^gentleman. 

If  it  be  still  asked,  what  are  kings  to  do  under  such 
circumstances  as  those  in  which  they  were  placed  with 
Bonaparte  ?  what  is  their  alternative  ?  it  is  to  be  re- 
plied, firstly,  that  the  question  has  been  answered 
already,  by  the  mode  in  which  the  charge  is  put ;  and, 
secondly,  that  whatever  they  do,  they  must  either 
cease  to  act  basely,  and  like  the  meanest  of  mankind, 
or  be  content  to  be  regarded  as  such,  and  to  leave  such 
stains  on  their  order  as  tend  to  produce  its  downfall, 
and  to  exasperate  the  world  into  the  creation  of  re- 
•jpublics.  Republics,  in  the  first  instance,  are  never 
;desired  for  their  own  sakes.  I  do  not  think  they  will 
be  finally  desired  at  all ;  certainly  not  unaccompanied 
by  courtly  graces  and  good  breeding,  and  whatever  can 
tend  to  secure  to  them  ornament  as  well  as  utility.  I 
do  not  think  it  is  in  human  nature  to  be  content  with 
a  different  settlement  of  the  old  question,  any  more 
than  it  is  in  nature  physical  to  dispense  with  her  pomp 
of  flowers  and  colours.  But  sure  I  am  that  the  first 
cravings  for  republics  always  originate  in  some  despair 
created  by  the  conduct  of  kings. 

It  might  be  amusing  to  bring  together  a  few  of  the 
exordiums  of  those  same  speeches,  or  state  papers,  of 
the  allies  of  George  the  Third ;  but  I  have  not  time  to 
look  for  them ;  and  perhaps    they  would  prove  tire- 

['  Louis  Philippe  died  an  exile  at  Claremont  in  England  on  August 
26,  1850.] 

220 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

some.  It  is  more  interesting  to  consider  the  "  state  "" 
which  Bonaparte  kept  in  those  days,  and  to  compare  it 
with  his  exile  in  St.  Helena.  There  are  more  persons, 
perhaps,  in  the  present  generation  who  think  of  Bona- 
parte as  the  captive  of  Great  Britain,  defeated  by 
Wellington,  than  as  the  maker  of  kings  and  queens, 
reigning  in  Paris,  and  bringing  monarchs  about  his 
footstool. 

But  the  fortunes  of  Napoleon  were  on  the  declinQ 
when  they  appeared  to  be  at  their  height.  The  year 
1808  beheld  at  once  their  culmination  and  thei^ 
descent ;  and  it  was  the  feeblest  of  his  vassals  who^ 
by  the  very  excess  of  his  servility,  gave  the  signal  for 
the  change.  Fortunately,  too,  for  the  interests  ot 
mankind,  the  change  was  caused  by  a  violation  of  the 
most  obvious  principles  of  justice  and  good  sense.  It 
was  owing  to  the  unblushing  seizure  of  Spain.  It  was 
owing  to  the  gross  and  unfeeling  farce  of  a  pretended 
sympathy  with  the  Spanish  king's  quarrel  with  his  son ; 
to  the  acceptance  of  a  throne  which  the  ridiculous 
father  had  no  right  to  give  away ;  and  to  the  endeavour 
to  force  the  accession  on  a  country,  which,  instead  of 
tranquilly  admitting  it  on  the  new  principles  of  in- 
difference to  religion  and  zeal  for  advancement  (as  he 
had  ignorantly  expected),  opposed  it  with  the  united 
vehemence  of  dogged  bigotry  and  an  honest  patriotism. 

Spain  was  henceforth  the  millstone  hung  round  the 
neck  of  the  conqueror ;  and  his  marriage  with  a  prin- « 
cess  of  Austria,  which  was  thought  such  a  wonderful 
piece  of  success,  only  furnished  him  with  a  like  impedi- 
ment ;  for  it  added  to  the  weight  of  his  unpopularity 
with  all  honest  and  prospective  minds.  It  was  well 
said  by  Cobbett,  that  he  had  much  better  have  as- 
sembled a  hundred  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  France,  and 
selected  the  prettiest  of  them  all  for  his  wife.  The 
heads  and  hearts  of  the  "  Young  Continent "  were 
henceforward  against  the  self-seeker,  ambitious  of  the 
old  "  shows  of  things,"  in  contradiction  to  the  honest 
"  desires  of  the  mind."  Want  of  sympathy  was  pre- 
pared for  him  in  case  of  a  reverse  ;  and  when,  partly 
in  the  confidence  of  his  military  pride,  partly  by  way 

221 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

of  making  a  final  set-off  against  his  difficulties  in  Spain, 
and  partly  in  very  ignorance  of  what  Russian  natures 
and  Russian  winters  could  effect,  he  went  and  ran  his 
head  against  the  great  northern  wall  of  ice  and  snow, 
he  came  back  a  ruined  man,  masterly  and  surprising  as 
his  efforts  to  reinstate  himself  might  thereafter   be. 
Nothing    remained  for  him  but  to  fume  and  fret  in 
spirit,  get  fatter  with  a  vitiated  state  of  body,  and  see 
I'everse  on  reverse  coming  round  him,  which  he  was  to 
face  to  no  purpose.     The  grandest  thing  he  did  was  to 
return    from    Elba :    the  next,    to  fight  the   battle    of 
Waterloo ;  but  he  went  to  the  field,  bloated  and  half 
asleep,  in  a  carriage.     He  had  already,  in  body,  become 
one  of  the  commonest  of  those  "  emperors "  whom  he 
;  had  first  laughed  at  and  then  leagued  with  :  no  great 
I  principle  stood  near  him,  as  it  did  in  the  times  of  the 
republic,    when   armies   of    shoeless    youths   beat   the 
veteran  troops  of  Austria ;  and  thus,  deserted  by  every- 
thing but  his  veterans  and  his  generalship,  which  came 
to  nothing  before  the  unyieldingness  of  English,  and 
^;the  advent  of  Prussian  soldiers,  he  became  a  fugitive 
Vin  the  "belle  France"  which  he  had  fancied  his  own, 
j'and  died  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Lowe.^ 

.  I  do  not  believe  that  George  the  Third,  or  his  minis- 
i  ter,  Mr.  Pitt,  speculated  at  all  upon  a  catastrophe  like 
I  this.  I  mean,  that  I  do  not  believe  they  reckoned  upon 
I  Napoleon's  destroying  himself  by  his  own  ambition. 
'They  looked,  it  is  true,  to  the  chance  of  "something 
I  turning  up ;  "  but  it  was  to  be  of  the  ordinary  kind. 
4  They  thought  to  put  him  down  by  paid  coalitions,  and 
iin  the  regular  course  of  war.  Hence,  on  repeated 
v^ failures,  the  minister's  broken  heart,  and  probably  the 
']final  extinguishment  of  the  king's  reason.  The  latter 
^jcalamity,  by  a  most  unfortunate  climax  of  untimeliness, 
ftook  place  a  little  before  his  enemy's  reverses. 
V  George  the  Third  was  a  very  brave  and  honest  man. 
tHe  feared  nothing  on  earth,  and  he  acted  according  to 
iiis  convictions.      But,    unfortunately,    his   convictions 

['  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  {17G9-1S44),  the  Governor  of  St.  Helena  at  the 
time  of  Xapolecjn's  imprisonment  on  the  island.] 

222 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

were  at  the  mercy  of  a  will  far  greater  than  his  under- 
standing; and  hence  his  courage  became  obstinacy,  and 
his  honesty  the  dupe  of  his  inclinations.     He  was  the 
son  of  a  father  with  little  brain,  and  of  a  mother  who 
had  a  diseased  blood :  indeed,    neither  of  his  parents 
was  healthy.     He  was  brought  up  in  rigid  principles 
of  morality  on  certain  points,  by  persons  who  are  sup-'; 
posed  to  have  evaded  them  in  their  own  conduct ;  he 
was  taught  undue  notions  of  kingly  prerogative  ;  he 
was  suffered  to  grow  up,   nevertheless,  in  homely  as] 
well  as  shy  and  moody  habits  ;  and  while  acquiring  ai" 
love  of  power  tending  to  the  violent  and  uncontrollable,  v 
he  was  not  permitted  to  have  a  taste  of  it  till  he  be-j 
came  his  own  master.     The  consequences  of  this  train-j 
ing  were  an  extraordinary  mixture  of  domestic  virtuef 
with  official  duplicity ;    of  rustical,  mechanical   tastes: 
and  popular  manners,  with  the  most  exalted  ideas  of 
authority ;    of  a  childish   and  self-betraying   cunning,) 
with  the  most  stubborn  reserves ;  of  fearlessness  with 
sordidness  ;  good-nature  with  unf orgivingness  ;  and  of 
the  health  and  strength  of  temperance  and  self-denial,, 
with  the  last  weaknesses  of  understanding,  and  pas4 
sions  that  exasperated  it  out  of  its  reason.    The  Englisl^' 
nation  were  pleased  to  see  in  him  a  crowning  specimen,! 
of  themselves — a  royal  John  Bull.     They  did  not  dis4 
cover  till  too  late  (perhaps  have  not  yet  discovered)^ 
how  much  of  the  objectionable,  as  well  as  the  respect-; 
able,  lies  hidden  in  the  sturdy  nickname  invented  for 
them  by  Arbuthnot ;  ^  how  much  the  animal  predomi-; 
nates  in  it  over  the  intellectual ;  and  how  terribly  thO; 
bearer  of  it  may  be  overridden,  whether  in  a  royal  or 
a  national  shape.      They  had  much  better  get  some 
new  name  for  themselves,  worthy  of  the  days  of  Queen| 
Victoria  and  of  the  hopes  of  the  world.  t 

In  every  shape  I  reverence  calamity,  and  would  not? 
be  thought  to  speak  of  it  with  levity,  especially  in] 
connection  with  a  dynasty  which  has  since  become  I 
estimable,  as  well  as  reasonable,  in  every  respect.  | 

If  the  histories  of  private  as  well  as  public  families ' 

[»  Dr.  John  Arbuthnot  (1667-1735).    His  History  of  John  Bull,  de- 
signed to  ridicule  the  Duke  of  Mai-lborough,  appeared  in  1712.] 

223 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

were  known,  the  race  of  the  Guelphs  would  only  be 
found,  in  the  person  of  one  of  their  ancestors,  to  have 
shared,  in  common  perhaps  with  every  family  in  the 
world,  the  sorrows  of  occasional  deterioration.  But  in 
the  greatest  and  most  tragical  examples  of  human 
suffering,  the  homeliest,  as  well  as  the  loftiest  images, 
are  too  often  forced  on  the  mind  together.  George 
the  Third,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  more  estimable 
man  than  many  of  his  enemies,  and,  certainly,  than 
any  of  his  wholesale  revilers ;  and  the  memory  of  his 
last  days  is  sanctified  by  whatever  can  render  the  loss 
of  sight  and  of  reason  affecting. 

Whatever  of  any  kind  has  taken  place  in  the  world, 
may  have  been  best  for  all  of  us  in  the  long  run. 
Nature  permits  us,  retrospectively  and  for  comfort's 
sake,  though  not  in  a  different  spirit,  to  entertain  that 
conclusion  among  others.  But  meantime,  either  be- 
cause the  world  is  not  yet  old  enough  to  know  better, 
or  because  we  yet  live  but  in  the  tuning  of  its  instru- 
ments, and  have  not  learned  to  play  the  harmonies  of 
the  earth  sweetly,  men  feel  incited  by  what  is  good  as 
well  as  bad  in  them,  to  object  and  to  oppose ;  and 
youth  being  the  season  of  inexperience  and  of  vanity, 
as  well  as  of  enthusiasm,  otherwise  the  most  disinter- 
ested, the  Examiner,  which  began  its  career,  like  most 
papers,  with  thinking  the  worst  of  those  from  whom 
it  differed,  and  expressing  its  mind  accordingly  with 
fearless  sincerity  (which  was  not  equally  the  case  Tvith 
those  papers),  speedily  excited  the  anger  of  Govern- 
ment. It  did  this  the  more,  inasmuch  as,  according  to 
what  has  been  stated  of  its  opinions  on  foreign  politics, 
and  in  matters  of  church  government,  it  did  not  fall 
into  the  common  and  half -conciliating  because  degrad- 
ing error  of  antagonists,  by  siding,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  the  rest  of  its  enemies. 

I  need  not  reopen  the  questions  of  foreign  and  do- 
mestic policy  which  were  mooted  with  the  ruling 
powers  in  those  days,  Reform  in  particular.  The  result 
is  well  known,  and  the  details  in  general  have  ceased 
to  be  interesting.  I  would  repeat  none  of  them  at  all 
if  personal  history  did  not  give  a  new  zest  to  almost 

224 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

any  kind  of  relation.  As  such,  however,  is  the  case, 
I  shall  proceed  to  observe  that  the  Examiner  had  not 
been  established  a  year  when  Government  instituted  a 
prosecution  against  it,  in  consequence  of  some  remarks  ; 
on  a  pamphlet  by  a  Major  Hogan,  who  accused  the  \ 
Duke  of  York,  as  Commander-in-Chief,  of  favouritism 
and  corruption. 

Major  Hogan  was  a  furious  but  honest  Irishman,  who 
had  been  in  the  army  seventeen  years.  He  had  served 
and  suffered  bitterly ;  in  the  West  Indies  he  possessed 
the  highest  testimonials  to  his  character,  had  been  a 
very  active  recruiting  officer,  had  seen  forty  captains 
promoted  over  his  head  in  spite  of  repeated  applica- 
tions and  promises,  and  he  desired,  after  all,  nothing 
but  the  permission  to  purchase  his  advancement,  agree- 
ably to  every  custom. 

Provoked  out  of  his  patience  by  these  fruitless 
endeavours  to  buy  what  others  who  had  done  nothing 
obtained  for  nothing,  and  being  particularly  disgusted 
at  being  told,  for  the  sixth  time,  that  he  had  been 
"  noted  for  promotion,  and  would  be  duly  considered  as 
favourable  opportunities  offered,"  the  gallant  Hibernian 
went  straight,  without  any  further  ado,  to  the  office  of 
the  Commander-in-chief,  and  there,  with  a  vivacity  and 
plain-speaking  which  must  have  looked  like  a  scene  in 
a  play,  addressed  his  Royal  Highness  in  a  speech  that 
astounded  him. 

The  Major  explained  to  the  royal  Commander-in- 
chief  how  more  than  forty  captains  had  been  promoted 
without  purchase,  who  had  been  his  juniors  when  he 
was  a  captain,  and  how  it  had  been  suggested  to  him 
that  he  might  obtain  a  majority  without  purchase  by 
paying  six  hundred  pounds  as  a  bribe  to  certain  persons. 
The  Duke  of  York  made  no  reply,  asked  no  questions, 
but  looked  astounded.  "  Vox  faucibus  hcesit"  The 
Major  proceeded  to  state  his  case  in  a  pamphlet  for 
publication.  The  day  after  his  first  advertisement,  a 
lady  in  a  barouche,  with  two  footmen,  called  at  the 
newspaper  office  for  his  address,  and  on  the  following 
evening  an  anonymous  letter  was  left  at  his  lodging, 
telling  him  that  to  maintain  secrecy  would  benefit  him 

225  Q 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF    LEIGH   HUNT 

with  the  royal  family,  and  hoping  that  "  the  enclosed  " 
(notes  for  500Z.)  would  prevent  the  publication  of  his 
intended  pamphlet.  The  receipt  of  this  letter  was 
properly  attested  by  several  witnesses.  Major  Hogan 
declined  to  be  influenced  by  such  agencies,  and  instantly 
announced  that  the  money  should  be  returned. 

The  Examiner  made  comments  on  these  disclosures, 
of  a  nature  that  was  to  be  expected  from  its  ardour  in 
the  cause  of  Reform ;  not  omitting,  however,  to  draw 
a  distinction  between  the  rights  of  domestic  privacy 
and  the  claims  to  indulgence  set  up  by  traffickers  in 
public  corruption.  The  Government,  however,  cared 
nothing  for  this  distinction  ;  neither  would  it  have  had 
the  corruption  inquired  into.  Its  prosecutions  were  of 
a  nature  that  did  not  allow  truth  to  be  investigated ; 
and  one  of  these  was  accordingly  instituted  against  us, 
when  it  was  unexpectedly  turned  aside  by  a  member  of 
Parliament,  Colonel  Wardle,  who  was  resolved  to  bring 
the  female  alluded  to  by  Major  Hogan  before  the  notice 
of  that  tribunal. 

I  say  "  unexpectedly,"  because  neither  then,  nor  at 
any  time,  had  I  the  least  knowledge  of  Colonel  Wardle. 
The  Examiner^  so  to  speak,  lived  quite  alone.  It  sought 
nobody;  and  its  principles  in  this  respect  had  already 
become  so  well  understood  that  few  sought  it,  and  no 
one  succeeded  in  making  its  acquaintance.  The  colonel's 
motion  for  an  investigation  came  upon  us,  therefore, 
like  a  god-send.  The  prosecution  against  the  paper 
was  dropped ;  and  the  whole  attention  of  the  country 
was  drawn  to  the  strange  spectacle  of  a  laughing, 
impudent  woman,  brought  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  forcing  them  to  laugh  in  their  turn  at 
the  effrontery  of  her  answers.  The  poor  Duke  of 
York  had  parted  with  her,  and  she  had  turned  against 
him. 

The  upshot  of  the  investigation  was,  that  Mrs. 
Clarke*  had  evidently  made  money  by  the  seekers  of 

[*  Mrs.  Mary  Anne  Clarke,  n^e  Thompson  (1776-1852),  was  a  mistress 
of  Frederick,  Duke  of  York,  the  Commander-in-chief,  a  younger 
brother  of  George  IV.  Her  appearance  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  which  took  place  in  1809,  caused  a  great  sensation.  She 
was  imprisoned  in  1813  for  libel.] 

226 


POLITICAL  CHARACTERS 

military  promotion,  but  that  the  duke  was  pronounced 
innocent  of  connivance.  His  Royal  Highness  with- 
drew, however,  from  office  for  a  time  (for  he  was  not 
long  afterwards  reinstated),  and  public  opinion,  as  to 
his  innocence  or  guilt,  went  meanwhile  pretty  much 
according  to  that  of  party. 

My  own  impression,  at  this  distance  of  time,  and 
after  better  knowledge  of  the  duke's  private  history 
and  prevailing  character,  is,  that  there  was  some  con- 
nivance on  his  part,  but  not  of  a  systematic  nature,  or 
beyond  what  he  may  have  considered  as  warrantable 
towards  a  few  special  friends  of  his  mistress,  on  the 
assumption  that  she  would  carry  her  influence  no 
farther.  His  own  letters  proved  that  he  allowed  her  to 
talk  to  him  of  people  with  a  view  to  promotion.  He  even 
let  her  recommend  him  a  clergyman,  who  (as  he  phrased 
it)  had  an  ambition  to  "  preach  before  royalty."  He 
said  he  would  do  what  he  could  to  bring  it  about; 
probably  thinking  nothing  whatsoever — I  mean,  never 
having  the  thought  enter  his  head — of  the  secret 
scandal  of  the  thing,  or  not  regarding  his  consent  as 
anything  but  a  piece  of  good-natured  patronizing 
acquiescence,  after  the  ordinary  fashion  of  the  "  ways  of 
the  world." 

For,  in  truth,  the  Duke  of  York  was  as  good-natured 
a  man  as  he  was  far  from  being  a  wise  one.  The 
investigation  gave  him  a  salutary  caution  ;  but  I  really 
believe,  on  the  whole,  that  he  had  already  been,  as  he 
was  afterwards,  a  very  good,  conscientious  war-office 
clerk.  He  was  a  brave  man,  though  no  general;  a 
very  filial,  if  not  a  very  thinking  politician  (for  he 
always  voted  to  please  his  father);  and  if  he  had  no 
idea  of  economy,  it  is  to  be  recollected  how  easily 
princes'  debts  are  incurred, — how  often  encouraged  by 
the  creditors  who  complain  of  them  ;  and  how  often, 
and  how  temptingly  to  the  debtor,  they  are  paid  off  by 
governments. 

As  to  his  amours,  the  temptations  of  royalty  that  way 
are  still  greater :  the  duke  seems  to  have  regarded  a 
mistress  in  a  very  tender  and  conjugal  point  of  view, 
as  long  as  the  lady  chose  to  be  equally  considerate  ;  and 

227 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

if  people  wondered  why  such  a  loving  man  did  not  love 
his  duchess — who  appears  to  have  been  as  good-natured 
as  himself — the  wonder  ceased  when  they  discovered 
that  her  Royal  Highness  was  a  lady  of  so  whimsical  a 
taste,  and  possessed  such  an  overflowing  amount  of 
benevolence  towards  the  respectable  race  of  beings 
hight  dogs,  that  in  the  constant  occupation  of  looking 
after  the  welfare  of  some  scores  of  her  canine  friends, 
she  had  no  leisure  to  cultivate  the  society  of  those 
human  ones  that  could  better  dispense  with  her 
attentions. 

The  ministers  naturally  grudged  the  Examiner  its 
escape  from  the  Hogan  prosecution,  especially  as  they 
gained  nothing  with  the  paper,  in  consequence  of  their 
involuntary  forbearance.  Accordingly,  before  another 
year  was  out,  they  instituted  a  second  prosecution  ;  and 
so  eager  were  they  to  bring  it,  that,  in  their  haste,  they 
again  overleaped  their  prudence.  Readers  in  the 
present  times,  when  more  libels  have  been  written  in  a 
week  by  Toryism  itself  against  royalty,  in  the  most 
irreverent  style,  than  appeared  in  thsoe  days  in  the 
course  of  a  year  from  pens  the  most  radical,  and 
against  princes  the  most  provoking,  are  astonished  to 
hear  that  the  offence  we  had  committed  consisted  of 
the  following  sentence  : 

"Of  all  monarchs  since  the  Revolution,  the  successor 
of  George  the  Third  will  have  the  finest  opportunity  of 
becoming  nobly  popular." 

But  the  real  offence  was  the  contempt  displayed 
towards  the  ministers  themselves.  The  article  in  which 
the  sentence  appeared,  was  entitled  "  Change  of 
Ministry ;"  the  Duke  of  Portland^  had  just  retired  from 
the  premiership  ;  and  the  Examine^'  had  been  long 
girding  him  and  his  associates  on  the  score  of  general 
incompetency,  as  well  as  their  particular  unfitness  for 
constitutional  government.  The  ministers  cared  nothing 
for  the  king,  in  any  sense  of  personal  zeal,  or  of  a 
particular  wish  to  vindicate  or  exalt  him.     The  tempers, 

[1  William  Henry  Cavendish  Bentinck,  the  third  Duke  of  Portland 
(173S-1809).  He  became  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  in  1807,  but 
retired  the  same  year.] 

228 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

caprices,  and  strange  notions  o£  sincerity  and  craft  to 
which  he  was  subject,  by  neutralizing  in  a  great 
measure  his  ordinary  good  nature  and  somewhat 
exuberant  style  of  intercourse  on  the  side  of  familiar- 
ity and  gossiping,  did  not  render  him  a  very  desirable 
person  to  deal  with,  even  among  friends.  But  he  was 
essentially  a  Tory  king,  and  so  far  a  favourite  of 
Tories  ;  he  was  now  terminating  the  fiftieth  year  of 
his  reign  ;  there  was  to  be  a  jubilee  in  consequence ; 
and  the  ministers  thought  to  turn  the  loyalty  of  the 
holiday  into  an  instrument  of  personal  revenge. 

The  passage  in  that  article  charged  with  being 
libellous  was  the  following  [reproduced  now  as  a 
specimen  of  what  was  considered  libel  in  those 
days] : — 

"  Whatever  may  be  the  truth  of  these  statements,  it  is  generally 
supposed  that  the  mutilated  administration,  in  spite  of  its  tenacity 
of  life,  cannot  exist  much  longer ;  and  the  Foxites,  of  course,  are 
beginning  to  rally  round  their  leaders,  in  order  to  give  it  the  coup 
■de  gtace.  A  more  respectable  set  of  men  they  certainly  are, — with 
more  general  information,  more  attention  to  the  encouragement  of 
intellect,  and  altogether  a  more  enlightened  policy ;  and  if  his 
Majesty  could  be  persuaded  to  enter  into  their  conciliatory  views 
with  regard  to  Ireland,  a  most  important  and  most  necessary  benefit 
would  be  obtained  for  this  country.  The  subject  of  Ireland,  next  to 
the  difficulty  of  coalition,  is  no  doubt  the  great  trouble  in  the 
election  of  his  Majesty's  servants ;  and  it  is  this,  most  probably, 
which  has  given  rise  to  the  talk  of  a  regency,  a  measure  to  which 
the  court  would  never  resort  while  it  felt  a  possibility  of  acting 
upon  its  own  principles.  What  a  crowd  of  blessings  rush  upon 
one's  mind,  that  might  be  bestowed  upon  the  country  in  the  event 
of  such  a  change !  Of  all  monarchs,  indeed,  since  the  revolution, 
the  successor  of  George  the  Third  will  have  the  finest  opportunity 
of  becoming  nobly  popular." 

The  framers  of  the  indictment  evidently  calculated 
•on  the  usual  identification  of  a  special  with  a  Tory 
jury.  They  had  reckoned,  at  the  same  time,  so  con- 
fidently on  the  effect  to  be  produced  with  that  class  of 
persons,  by  any  objection  to  the  old  king,  that  the 
proprietor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle^  Mr.  Perry,  ^  was 
prosecuted  for  having  extracted  only  the  two  conclud- 

['  James  Perry  (1756-1821),  one  of  the  pioneers  of  Parliamentary 
reporting.  He  was  the  first  to  introduce  the  system  of  employing 
^  succession  of  reporters  to  take  notes  of  the  speeches.] 

229 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

ing  sentences  ;  and  as  the  Government  was  still  more 
angered  with  the  Whigs  who  hoped  to  displace  them, 
than  with  the  Radicals  who  wished  to  see  them  dis- 
placed, Mr.  Perry's  prosecution  preceded  ours.  This 
was  fortunate ;  for  though  the  proprietor  of  the 
Morning  Chronicle  pleaded  his  own  cause,  an  occasion 
in  which  a  man  is  said  to  have  "  a  fool  for  his  client " 
(that  is  to  say,  in  the  opinion  of  lawyers),  he  pleaded  it 
so  well,  and  the  judge  (Ellenborough),  who  afterwards 
showed  himself  so  zealous  a  Whig,  gave  him  a  hearing 
and  construction  so  favourable,  that  he  obtained  an 
acquittal,  and  the  prosecution  against  the  Examinei'- 
accordingly  fell  to  the  ground. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  from  this  gentleman 
while  his  indictment  was  pending.  He  came  to  tell  me 
how  he  meant  to  conduct  his  defence.  He  was  a  lively, 
good-natured  man,  with  a  shrewd  expression  of 
countenance,  and  twinkling  eyes,  which  he  not  un- 
willingly turned  upon  the  ladies.  I  had  lately  married, 
and  happened  to  be  sitting  with  my  wife.  A  chair  was 
given  him  close  to  us  ;  but  as  he  was  very  near-sighted, 
and  yet  could  not  well  put  up  his  eyeglass  to  look  at 
her  (which  purpose,  nevertheless,  he  was  clearly  bent 
on  effecting),  he  took  occasion,  while  speaking  of  the 
way  in  which  he  should  address  the  jury,  to  thrust  his 
face  close  upon  hers,  observing  at  the  same  time,  with 
his  liveliest  emphasis,  and,  as  if  expressly  for  her 
information,  "  I  mean  to  be  very  modest." 

The  unexpectedness  of  this  announcement,  together 
with  the  equivocal  turn  given  to  it  by  the  vivacity  of  his 
movement,  had  all  the  effect  of  a  dramatic  surprise, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  we  kept  our  countenances. 

Mr.  Periy  subsequently  became  one  of  my  warmest 
friends,  and,  among  other  services,  would  have  done  me 
one  of  a  very  curious  nature,  which  I  will  mention 
by-and-by.^ 

['  This  is  the  first  mention  that  the  writer  makes  of  his  marriages 
and  it  is  a  striking  example  of  the  manner  in  which,  for  various 
reasons,  but  principally  out  of  delicacy  to  living  persons,  he  felt 
himself  bound  to  pass  over,  with  very  slight  allusions,  the  greater 
part  of  his  personal  and  private  life.     In  the  present  instance  there 

230 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

Of  the  ministers,  whom  a  young  journalist  thus 
treated  with  contempt,  I  learned  afterwards  to  think 
better.  Not  as  ministers  :  for  I  still  consider  them,  in 
that  respect,  as  the  luckiest,  and  the  least  deserving  their 
luck,  of  any  statesmen  that  have  been  employed  by  the 
House  of  Brunswick.  I  speak  not  only  of  the  section 
at  that  moment  reigning,  but  of  the  whole  of  what 
was  called  Mr.  Pitt's  successors.  But  with  the  inexperi- 
ence and  presumption  of  youth,  I  was  too  much  in  the 
habit  of  confounding  difference  of  opinion  with  dis- 
honest motives.     I  did  not  see  (and  it  is  strange  how 

was  no  practical  reason  for  this  reserve,  unless  it  was  that  if  the 
author  had  entered  upon  domestic  matters,  he  might,  with  his 
almost  exaggerated  sense  of  the  active  obligations  which  truth- 
speaking  involved,  have  felt  bound  to  enter  into  personal  questions 
and  perhaps  judgments,  which  he  thought  it  better  to  waive.  The 
dommating  motives  for  this  characteristic  reserve  are  treated  in  the 
closing  chapter  of  the  volume.  Leigh  Hunt  was  married  in  1809, 
[July  3],  to  Marianne,  the  daughter  of  Thomas  and  Ann  Kent.  Mr. 
Kent  had  died  comparatively  young.  His  widow  had  obtained  an 
independent  livelihood  as  a  dressmaker  in  rather  a  "high"  connec- 
tion ;  amongst  her  acquaintance  was  the  young  editor,  who  fell  in  love 
with  the  eldest  daughter,  and  married  her  after  a  long  courtship. 
The  bride  was  the  reverse  of  handsome,  and  without  accomplish- 
ments; but  she  had  a  pretty  figure,  beautiful  black  hair  which 
reached  down  to  her  knees,  magnificent  eyes,  and  a  very  unusual 
natural  turn  for  plastic  art.  She  was  an  active  and  thrifty  house- 
wife, until  the  curious  malady  with  which  she  was  seized  totally 
undermined  her  strength.  Mrs.  Kent,  her  mother,  who  had  perhaps 
acquired  some  harshness  of  character  in  a  very  hard  school  of 
adversity,  never  quite  succeeded  in  retaining  the  regard  of  her  son- 
in-law, — one  reason,  perhaps,  for  the  reserve  which  has  been 
noticed.  Mrs.  Kent  made,  indeed,  some  fearful  mistakes  in  her 
sternness  ;  but  she  was  really  a  very  kind-hearted  woman,  only  too 
anxious  to  please,  and  faithful  in  the  attachments  which  she  foinied, 
even  when  disappointed.  She  subsequently  married  Mr.  Rowland 
Hunter,  a  man  of  keen  observation  and  simple  mind,  who  has 
survived  to  a  great  age,  and  whose  hearty  friendship  was  cordially 
appreciated  by  Leigh  Hunt,  as  they  both  advanced  in  years. 
Rowland  Hunter  was  the  nephew  and  successor  of  Johnson,  the 
well-known  bookseller  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  the  early 
patron  of  the  poet  Cowper.  Johnson  acquired  celebrity  for  his 
success  in  business,  his  intelligence,  and  his  peculiar  hospitality  ; 
and  Mr.  Hunter  continued  his  custom  of  keeping  open  house  weekly 
for  literary  men,  the  friends  of  literature,  and  persons  of  any 
individual  mark.  At  his  house,  the  young  author  encountered  a 
great  variety  of  minds,  and  most  unquestionably  derived  great 
advantage  from  the  opportunity.  His  conversation  frequently  turned 
upon  his  recollections  of  these  gatherings,  and  it  was  in  this  house 
that  he  formed  many  of  his  literary  and  personal  acquaintances. 
— T.  H.] 

231 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

people,  not  otherwise  wanting  in  common  sense  or 
modesty,  can  pass  whole  lives  without  seeing !)  that  if 
I  had  a  right  to  have  good  motives  attributed  to  myself 
by  those  who  differed  with  me  in  opinion,  I  was  bound 
to  reciprocate  the  concession.  I  did  not  reflect  that 
political  antagonists  have  generally  been  born  and  bred 
in  a  state  of  antagonism,  and  that  for  any  one  of  them 
to  demand  identity  of  opinion  from  another  on  pain  of 
his  being  thought  a  man  of  bad  motives,  was  to  demand 
that  he  should  have  had  the  antagonist's  father  and 
mother  as  well  as  his  own — the  same  training,  the  same 
direction  of  conscience,  the  same  predilections  and  very 
prejudices ;  not  to  mention,  that  good  motives  them- 
selves might  have  induced  a  man  to  go  counter  to  all 
these,  even  had  he  been  bred  in  them ;  which,  in  one  or 
two  respects,  was  the  case  with  myself. 

Canning,^  indeed,  was  not  a  man  to  be  treated  with 
contempt  under  any  circumstances  by  those  who  ad- 
mired wit  and  rhetoric ;  though,  compared  with  what 
he  actually  achieved  in  either,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  his  position  procured  him  an  undue  measure  of 
fame.  What  has  he  left  us  to  perpetuate  the  amount 
of  it?  A  speech  or  two,  and  the  Ode  on  the  Knife- 
Crrinder.  This  will  hardly  account  with  the  next  ages 
for  the  statue  that  occupies  the  highway  in  West- 
minster ;  a  compliment,  too,  unique  of  its  kind ;  mono- 
polizing the  parliamentary  pavement,  as  though  the 
original  had  been  the  only  man  fit  to  go  forth  as  the 
representative  of  Parliament  itself,  and  to  challenge 
the  admiration  of  the  passengers.  The  liberal  measures 
of  Canning's  last  days  renewed  his  claim  on  the  public 
regard,  especially  as  he  was  left,  by  the  jealousy  and 
resentment  of  his  colleagues,  to  carry  them  by  himself  : 
jealousy,  because,  small  as  his  wit  was  for  a  great 
fame,  they  had  none  of  their  own  to  equal  it ;  and 
resentment,  because  in  its  indiscretions  and  incon- 
siderateness,  it  had  nicknamed  or  bantered  them  all 

[ »  Rt.  Hon.  George  Canning  (1770- 1827).  '  *  The  Friend  of  Humanity 
and  the  Knife-Grinder,"  a  clever  but  merciless  parody  of  Southey's 
early  Jacobin  verses,  appeared  in  the  Anti-Jacobin  newspaper.  As 
a  youth  at  Eton  Canning  started  a  periodical  called  the  Microcosm.] 

232 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

round, — the  real  cause,  I  have  no  doubt,  of  that  aristo- 
cratical  desertion  of  his  ascendancy  which  broke  his 
heart  at  the  very  height  of  his  fortunes.     But  at  the 
time  I  speak  of,  I  took  him  for  nothing  but  a  great  sort 
of  impudent  Eton  boy,  with  an  unfeelingness  that  sur- 
passed his  abihty.     Whereas  he  was  a  man  of  much 
natural  sensibility,  a  good  husband  and  father,  and  an 
admirable  son.     Canning  continued,  as  long  as  he  lived,  i 
to  write  a  letter  every  week  to  his  mother,  who  had  \ 
been  an  actress,  and  whom  he  treated,  in  every  respect,  j 
with  a  consideration  and  tenderness  that  may  be  pro-  f 
nounced   to  have   been   perfect.     "  Good   son "  should  • 
have  been  written  under  his  statue.     It   would  have 
given  the  somewhat  pert  look  of  his  handsome  face  a 
pleasanter  effect ;  and  have  done  him  a  thousand  times 
more  good  with  the  coming  generations  than  his   Ode 
on  the  Knife-Grinder. 

The  Earl  of  Liverpool,^  whom  Madame  de  Stael  is 
said  to  have  described  as  having  a  "  talent  for  silence," 
and  to  have  asked,  in  company,  what  had  become  of 
"that  dull  speaker, Lord Hawkesbury "  (his  title  during 
his  father's  lifetime),  was  assuredly  a  very  dull  minister  ; 
but  I  believe  he  was  a  very  good  man.  His  father  had 
been  so  much  in  the  confidence  of  the  Earl  of  Bute  at 
the  accession  of  George  III.,  as  to  have  succeeded  to 
his  invidious  reputation  of  being  the  secret  adviser  of 
the  king ;  and  he  continued  in  great  favour  during  the 
whole  of  the  reign.  The  son,  with  little  interval,  was 
in  office  during  the  whole  of  the  war  with  Napoleon ; 
and  after  partaking  of  all  the  bitter  draughts  of  dis- 
appointment which  ended  in  killing  Pitt,  had  the  luck 
of  tasting  the  sweets  of  triumph.  I  met  him  one  day, 
not  long  afterwards,  driving  his  barouche  in  a  beautiful 
spot  where  he  lived,  and  was  so  struck  with  the  melan- 
choly of  his  aspect,  that,  as  I  did  not  know  him  by  sight, 
I  asked  a  passenger  who  he  was. 

The  same  triumph  did  not  hinder  poor  Lord  Castle- 
reagh  ^  from  dying  by  his  own  hand.     The  long  burden 

(*  Robert  Banks  Jenkinson,  Earl  of  Liverpool  (1770-1828)  became 
Prime  Minister  in  1812,  after  the  assassination  of  Spencer  Perceval.] 

[^  Robert  Stewart,  second  Marquis  of  Londonderry,  better  known 
AS  Lord  Castlereagh  (1769-1822).] 

233 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

of  responsibility  had  been  too  much,  even  for  him  ; 
though,  to  all  appearance,  he  was  a  man  of  a  stronger 
temperament  than  Lord  Liverpool,  and  had,  indeed,  a 
very  noble  aspect.  He  should  have  led  a  private  life, 
and  been  counted  one  of  the  models  of  the  aristocracy ; 
for  though  a  ridiculous  speaker  and  a  cruel  politician 
(out  of  impatience  of  seeing  constant  trouble,  and  not 
knowing  otherwise  how  to  end  it),  he  was  an  intelligent 
and  kindly  man  in  private  life,  and  could  be  superior  to 
his  position  as  a  statesman.^  He  delighted  in  the  poli- 
tical satire  of  the  Beggars  Opera ;  has  been  seen  ap- 
plauding it  from  a  stage  box ;  and  Lady  Morgan  tells 
us,  would  ask  her  in  company  to  play  him  the  songs  on 
the  pianoforte,  and  good-humouredly  accompany  them 
with  a  bad  voice.  How  pleasant  it  is  thus  to  find  one- 
self reconciled  to  men  whom  we  have  ignorantly  under- 
valued !  and  how  fortunate  to  have  lived  long  enough 
to  say  so  ! 

The  Exaininer,  though  it  preferred  the  Whigs  to  the 
Tories,  was  not  a  Whig  of  the  school  then  existing. 
Its  great  object  was  a  reform  in  Parliament,  which  the 
older  and  more  influential  Whigs  did  not  advocate, 
which  the  younger  ones  (the  fathers  of  those  now 
living)  advocated  but  fitfully  and  misgivingly,  and  which 
had  lately  been  suffered  to  fall  entirely  into  the  hands 
of  those  newer  and  more  thorough-going  Whigs,  which 
were  known  by  the  name  of  Radicals,  and  have  since 
been  called  WTiig-Radicals  and  Liberals.  The  opinions 
of  the  Examiner,  in  fact,  both  as  to  State  and  Church 
government,  allowing,  of  course,  for  difference  of  posi- 
tion in  the  parties  and  tone  in  their  manifestation, 
were  those  that  have  since  swayed  the  destinies  of  the 
country,  in  the  persons  of  Queen  Victoria  and  her 
ministers.  I  do  not  presume  to  give  her  Majesty  the 
name  of  a  partisan ;  or  to  imply  that,  under  any  circum- 
stances, she  would  condescend  to  accept  it.  Her  busi- 
ness, as  she  well  knows  and  admirably  demonstrates, 
is  not  to  side  with  any  of  the  disputants  among  her 

['  The  amount,  and  even  existence,  of  the  cruelty  here  attributed 
to  Lord  Castlereagh,  have  since  been  denied,  and  apparently  not 
without  reason. — T.  H.] 

234 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

children,  but  to  act  lovingly  and  dispassionately  for 
them  all,  as  circumstances  render  expedient.  But  the  , 
extraordinary  events  which  took  place  on  the  continent  i 
during  her  childhood,  the  narrow  political  views  of 
most  of  her  immediate  predecessors,  her  own  finer  and. 
more  genial  understanding,  and  the  training  of  a  wi8e|  | 
mother,  all  these  circumstances  in  combination  have]  ' 
rendered  her  what  no  prince  of  her  house  has  been|; 
before  her, — equal  to  the  (Jemands  not  only  of  thef  • 
nation  and  the  day,  but  of  the  days  to  come,  and  th© 
popular  interests  of  the  world.  So,  at  least,  I  conceive^l  ^ 
I  do  not  pretend  to  any  special  knowledge  of  the  cour<| 
or  its  advisers.  I  speak  from  what  I  have  seen  of  her^ 
Majesty's  readiness  to  fall  in  with  every  great  and 
liberal  measure  for  the  education  of  the  country,  the 
freedom  of  trade,  and  the  independence  of  nations  ;  and 
I  spoke  in  the  same  manner  before  I  could  be  suspected 
of  confounding  esteem  with  gratitude.  She  knows 
how,  and  nobly  dares,  to  let  the  reins  of  restriction  in 
the  hands  of  individuals  be  loosened  before  the  growing 
strength  and  self-government  of  the  many ;  and  thej 
royal  house  that  best  knows  how  to  do  this,  and  neither 
to  tighten  those  reins  in  anger  nor  abandon  them  out 
of  fear,  will  be  the  last  house  to  suffer  in  any  convul^* 
sion  which  others  may  provoke,  and  the  first  to  b^ 
reassured  in  their  retention,  as  long  as  royalty  shal| 
exist.  May  it  exist,  under  the  shape  in  which  I  can 
picture  it  to  my  imagination,  as  long  as  reasonableness 
can  outlive  envy,  and  ornament  be  known  to  be  one  o| 
nature's  desires  !  Excess,  neither  of  riches  nor  poverty^ 
would  then  endanger  it.  I  am  no  republican,  nor  eve^ 
was,  though  I  have  lived  during  a  period  of  history 
when  kings  themselves  tried  hard  to  make  honest  men 
republicans  by  their  apparent  unteachableness.  But 
my  own  education,  the  love,  perhaps,  of  poetic  ornar 
ment,  and  the  dislike  which  I  had  conceived  at  tha^ 
time  of  an  existing  republic,  even  of  British  origin^ 
kept  me  within  the  pale  of  the  loyal.  I  might  prefer^ 
perhaps,  a  succession  of  queens  to  kings,  and  a  simply 
fillet  on  their  brows  to  the  most  gorgeous  diadem.  I 
think  that  men  more  willingly  obey  the  one,  and  I  am 

2.3.5 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

sure  that  nobody  could  mistake  the  cost  of  the  other. 
But  peaceful  and  reasonable  provision  for  the  progress 
of  mankind  towards  all  the  good  possible  to  their  nature, 
from  orderly  good  manners  up  to  disinterested  senti- 
ments, is  the  great  desideratum  in  government ;  and 
thinking  this  more  securely  and  handsomely  maintained 
in  limited  monarchies  than  republics,  I  am  for  English 
permanence  in  this  respect,  in  preference  to  French 
mutability,  and  American  electiveness  ;  though,  at  the 
same  time,  I  cannot  but  consider  the  two  great  nations 
of  France  and  the  United  States  as  setting  us  enviable 
examples  in  regard  to  the  more  amiable  sociality  of  the 
one  and  the  special  and  constant  consideration  for 
women  in  the  other. 

The  Tory  Government  having  failed  in  its  two 
attacks  on  the  Examiner^  could  not  be  content,  for  any 
length  of  time,  till  it  had  failed  in  a  third.  For  such 
was  the  case.  The  new  charge  was  again  on  the  subject 
of  the  army — that  of  military  flogging.  An  excellent 
article  on  the  absurd  and  cruel  nature  of  that  punish- 
ment, from  the  pen  of  the  late  Mr.  John  Scott^  (who 
afterwards  fell  in  a  duel  with  one  of  the  writers  in 
Blacktvood),  had  appeared  in  a  country  paper,  the 
Stamford  Neics^  of  which  he  was  editor.  The  most 
striking  passages  of  this  article  were  copied  into  the 
Examiner^  and  it  is  a  remarkable  circumstance  in  the 
history  of  juries,  that  after  the  journal  which  copied  it 
had  been  acquitted^  in  London,  the  journal  which 
originated  the  copied  matter  was  found  guilty  in  Stam- 
ford ;  and  this,  too,  though  the  counsel  was  the  same 
in  both  instances — the  present  Lord  Brougham, 

'  ['  John  Scott  (1783-1821).  Editor  of  the  CJiampion  newspaper 
and  afterwards  Editor  of  the  London  Magazine.    While  conducting 

'  the  latter  periodical  he  induced  Lamb  to  contribute  a  series  of  Essays 
which  are  now  universally  known  by  their  signature  Elia.  He  also 
obtained  the  support  of  Hazlitt  and  other  writers  of  fame.  The 
duel  in  which  Scott  fell  was  with  Jonathan  Henry  Christie,  a  friend 
of  Lockhart,  who  had  been  severely  attacked  by  Scott.  Byron 
wrote  of  Scott  that  he  "died  like  a  brave  man  and  lived  an  able 
one."] 

[2  Early  in  1811  Shelley  first  introduced  himself  to  Hunt  by  send- 
ing him  from  Oxford  a  letter  of  congratulation  on  his  acquittal  on 
this  trial.] 

236 


POLITICAL   CHARACTERS 

The  attorney-general  at  that  time  was  Sir  Vicary 
Gibbs  ;  ^  a  name  which  it  appears  somewhat  ludicrous 
to  me  to  write  at  present,  considering  what  a  bugbear 
it  was  to  politicians,  and  how  insignificant  it  has  since 
become.  Sir  Vicary  was  a  little,  irritable,  sharp- 
featured,  bilious-looking  man  (so  at  least  he  was 
described,  for  I  never  saw  him)  ;  very  worthy,  I  believe, 
in  private  ;  and  said  to  be  so  fond  of  novels,  that  he 
would  read  them  after  the  labours  of  the  day,  till  the 
wax  lights  guttered  without  his  knowing  it.  I  had  a 
secret  regard  for  him  on  this  account,  and  wished  he 
would  not  haunt  me  in  a  spirit  so  unlike  Tom  Jones. 
I  know  not  what  sort  of  lawyer  he  was  ;  probably  none 
the  worse  for  imbuing  himself  with  the  knowledge  of 
Fielding  and  Smollett ;  but  he  was  a  bad  reasoner, 
and  made  half-witted  charges.  He  used  those  edge- 
tools  of  accusation  which  cut  a  man's  own  fingers. 
He  assumed  that  we  could  have  no  motives  for  writing 
but  mercenary  ones  ;  and  he  argued  that  because  Mr. 
Scott  (who  had  no  more  regard  for  Bonaparte  than  we 
had)  endeavoured  to  shame  down  the  practice  of  mili- 
tary flogging  by  pointing  to  the  disuse  of  it  in  the 
armies  of  France,  he  only  wanted  to  subject  his  native 
country  to  invasion.  He  also  had  the  simplicity  to  ask 
why  we  did  not  "speak  privately  on  the  subject  to 
some  member  of  Parliament,"  and  get  him  to  notice  it 
in  a  proper  manner,  instead  of  bringing  it  before  the 
public  in  a  newspaper  ?  We  laughed  at  him  ;  and  the 
event  of  his  accusations  enabled  us  to  laugh  more. 

The  charge  of  being  friends  of  Bonaparte  against  all 
who  differed  with  Lord  Castlereagh  and  Mr.  Canning 
was  a  common,  and,  for  too  long  a  time,  a  successful 
trick  with  such  of  the  public  as  did  not  read  the 
writings  of  the  persons  accused.  I  have  often  been 
surprised,  much  later  in  life,  both  in  relation  to  this 
and  to  other  charges,  at  the  credulity  into  which  many 
excellent  persons  had  owned  they  had  been  thus  be- 
guiled, and  at  the  surprise  which  they  expressed  in  turn 
at  finding  the  charges  the   reverse   of   true.     To  the 

[1  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs  (1751-1820).] 
237 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

readers  of  the  Examiner  they  caused  only  indignation 
or  merriment. 

The  last  and  most  formidable  prosecution  against  us 
remains  to  be  told ;  but  some  intermediate  circum- 
stances must  be  related  first. 


CHAPTER   XII 

LITERARY   WARFARE 

[1810] 

THE  Examiner  had  been  established  between  two 
and  three  years,  when  [in  1810]^  my  brother 
projected  a  quarterly  magazine  of  literature  and  poli- 
tics, entitled  the  Reflector,  which  I  edited.  Lamb,  Dyer, 
Barnes,  Mitchell,  the  Greek  Professor  Scholefield  (all 
Christ-Hospital  men),  together  with  Dr.  Aikin  and  his 
family,  wrote  in  it ;  and  it  w^as  rising  in  sale  every 
quarter,  when  it  stopped  at  the  close  of  the  fourth 
number  for  want  of  funds.  Its  termination  w^as  not 
owing  to  want  of  liberality  in  the  payments.  But  the 
radical  reformers  in  those  days  were  not  sufficiently 
rich  or  numerous  to  support  such  a  publication. 

Some  of  the  liveliest  effusions  of  Lamb  first  appeared 
in  this  magazine  ;  and  in  order  that  I  might  retain  no 
influential  class  for  my  good  wishers,  after  having 
angered  the  stage,  dissatisfied  the  Church,  offended  the 
State,  not  very  well  pleased  the  Whigs,  and  exasperated 
the  Tories,  I  must  needs  commence  the  maturer  part  of 
my  verse-making  with  contributing  to  its  pages  the 
Feast  of  the  Poets. 

The  Feast  of  the  Poets  ^  was  (perhaps  I  may  say,  is)  a 
jeu-d'esprit  suggested  by  the  Session  of  the  Poets  of  Sir 
John  Suckling.     Apollo  gives  the  poets  a  dinner ;  and 

[*  The  first  number  was  issued  in  December,  1810.] 

[*  The  Feast   of  the  Poets    was    afterwards    published    "with 

notes  and  other  pieces  of  verse,  by  the  Editor  of  the  Eocaminer, 

1814."] 

,      238 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

many  verse-makers,    who  have  no  claim  to  the  title, 
present  themselves,  and  are  rejected. 

With  this  effusion,  while  thinking  of  nothing  but 
showing  my  wit,  and  reposing  under  the  shadow  of  my 
"  laurels  "  (of  which  I  expected  a  harvest  as  abundant 
as  my  self-esteem),  I  made  almost  every  living  poet 
and  poetaster  my  enemy,  and  particularly  exasperated 
those  among  the  Tories.  I  speak  of  the  shape  in  which 
it  first  appeared,  before  time  and  reflection  had  mode- 
rated its  judgment.  It  drew  upon  my  head  all  the 
personal  hostility  which  had  hitherto  been  held  in  a 
state  of  suspense  by  the  vaguer  daring  of  the  Examiner^ 
and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  its  inconsiderate,  and 
I  am  bound  to  confess,  in  some  respects,  unwarrantable 
levity,  was  the  origin  of  the  gravest  and  far  less  war- 
rantable attacks  which  I  afterwards  sustained  from 
political  antagonists,  and  which  caused  the  most  serious 
mischief  to  my  fortunes.  Let  the  young  satirist  take 
warning ;  and  consider  how  much  self-love  he  is  going 
to  wound,  by  the  indulgence  of  his  own. 

Not  that  I  have  to  apologize  to  the  memory  of  every 
one  whom  I  attacked.  I  am  sorry  to  have  had  occasion 
to  differ  with  any  of  my  fellow-creatures,  knowing  the 
mistakes  to  which  we  are  all  liable  and  the  circum- 
stances that  help  to  cause  them.  But  I  can  only  regret 
it,  personally,  in  proportion  to  the  worth  or  personal 
regret  on  the  side  of  the  enemy. 

The  Quarterly  Revieic,  for  instance,  had  lately  been 
set  up,  and  its  editor  was  Gifford,^  the  author  of  the 
Baviad  and  Mceviad.  I  had  been  invited,  nay,  pressed 
by  the  publisher,  to  write  in  the  new  review  ;  which 
surprised  me,  considering  its  politics  and  the  great 
difference  of  my  own.  I  was  not  aware  of  the  little 
faith  that  was  held  in  the  politics  of  any  beginner  of 
the  world  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  invitation  had 
been  made  at  the  instance  of  Gifford  himself,  of  whom, 
as  the  dictum  of  a  "  man  of  vigorous  learning,"  and  the 

[»  William  Gifford  (1756-1826).  T1ie  Baviad,  a  poem  satirizing 
the  Delia  Oruscan  School  of  Poetasters,  appeared  in  1794,  which  was 
followed  in  1795  by  The  Mceviad,  a  satire  directed  against  the 
corruptions  of  the  drama  of  the  day.] 

239 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

*'  first  satirist  of  his  time,"  I  had  quoted  in  the  Critical 
Essays  the  gentle  observation,  that  "  all  the  fools  in 
the  kingdom  seemed  to  have  risen  up  with  one  accord, 
and  exclaimed,  '  let  us  write  for  the  theatres  ! '  " 

Strange  must  have  been  Gifford's  feelings,  when, 
in  the  Feast  of  the  Poets,  he  found  his  eulogizer  falling 
as  trenchantly  on  the  author  of  the  Baviad  and  Mmviad 
as  the  Baviad  and  Ma^viad  had  fallen  on  the  dramatists. 
The  Tory  editor  discerned  plainly  enough,  that  if  a 
man's  politics  were  of  no  consideration  with  the 
Quarterly  Revieic,  provided  the  politician  was  his  critical 
admirer,  they  were  very  different  things  with  the 
editor  Radical.  He  found  also,  that  the  new  satirist 
had  ceased  to  regard  the  old  one  as  a  "  critical 
authority ; "  and  he  might  not  have  unwarrantably 
concluded  that  I  had  conceived  some  personal  disgust 
against  him  as  a  man ;  for  such,  indeed,  was  the  secret 
of  my  attack. 

The  reader  is,  perhaps,  aware,  that  George  the 
Fourth,  when  he  was  Prince  of  Wales,  had  a  mistress 
of  the  name  of  Robinson.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  man 
of  no  great  character,  had  taken  to  the  stage  for  a 
livelihood,  was  very  handsome,  wrote  verses,  and  is 
said  to  have  excited  a  tender  emotion  in  the  bosom  of 
Charles  Fox.  The  prince  allured  her  from  the  stage, 
and  lived  with  her  for  some  years.  After  their  sepa- 
ration, and  during  her  decline,  which  took  place 
before  she  was  old,  she  became  afflicted  with  rheuma- 
tism ;  and  as  she  solaced  her  pains,  and  perhaps  added 
to  her  subsistence,  by  writing  verses,  and  as  her  verses 
turned  upon  her  affections,  and  she  could  not  discontinue 
her  old  vein  of  love  and  sentiment,  she  fell  under  the  lash 
of  this  masculine  and  gallant  gentleman,  Mr.  Gifford, 
who,  in  his  Baviad  and  Mceviad,  amused  himself  with 
tripping  up  her  "  crutches,"  particularly  as  he  thought 
her  on  her  way  to  her  last  home.  This  he  considered 
the  climax  of  the  fun. 

"See,"  exclaimed  he,  after  a  hit  or  two  at  other 
women,  like  a  boy  throwing  stones  in  the  street — 

[See  note,  vol.  i.  p.  152.] 
240 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

"  See  Robinson  forget  her  state,  and  move  | 

On  crutches  toid'rds  the  grave  to  '  Light  o'  Love.'  "  \ 

This  is  the  passage  which  put  all  the  gall  into  any- 1 
thing  which  I  said,  then  or  afterwards,  of  Giff ord,  till  i 
he  attacked  myself  and  my  friends.  At  least,  it  disposed  1 
me  to  think  the  worst  of  whatever  he  wrote ;  and  as  'i 
reflection  did  not  improve  nor  suffering  soften  him,  he  ^ 
is  the  only  man  I  ever  attacked,  respecting  whom  li' 
have  felt  no  regret. 

It  would  be  easy  for  me,  at  this  distance  of  time,  tol 
own  that  Gifford  possessed  genius,  had  such  been  thai 
case.  It  would  have  been  easy  for  me  at  any  time.  | 
But  he  had  not  a  particle.  The  scourger  of  poetasters  \ 
was  himself  a  poetaster.  When  he  had  done  with  hisi 
whip,  everybody  had  a  right  to  take  it  up,  and  lay  it  overs^ 
the  scourger's  shoulders ;  for  though  he  had  sense  enough| 
to  discern  glaring  faults,  he  abounded  in  commonplaces.  >' 
His  satire  itself,  which  at  its  best  never  went  beyondf 
smartness,  was  full  of  them.  | 

The  reader  shall  have  a  specimen  or  two,  in  order(; 
that  Mr.  Gifford  may  speak  for  himself ;  for  his  bookj^ 
has  long  ceased  to  be  read.  He  shall  see  with  how^f 
little  a  stock  of  his  own  a  man  may  set  up  for  a  judge| 
of  others.  ^ 

The  Baviad  and  Mceviad — so  called  from  two  badj^ 
poets  mentioned  by  Virgil — was  a  satire,  imitated  f rom| 
Persius,  on  a  set  of  fantastic  writers  who  had  madeil 
their  appearance  under  the  title  of  Delia  Cruscans.'^ 
The  coterie  originated  in  the  meeting  of  some  of  them  I 
at  Florence,  the  seat  of  the  famous  Della-Cruscan  !< 
Academy.  Mr.  Merry,  their  leader,  who  was  a  member  | 
of  that  academy,  and  who  wrote  under  its  signature,'^ 
gave  occasion  to  the  name.  They  first  published  a' 
collection  of  poems,  called  the  Florence  Miscellany,  and  )J 
then  sent  verses  to  the  London  newspapers,  which  | 
occasioned  an  overflow  of  contributions  in  the  like;; 
taste.  The  taste  was  as  bad  as  can  be  imagined  ;  full  of  \ 
floweriness,  conceits,  and  affectation;  and,  in  attempting:? 
to  escape  from  commonplace,  it  evaporated  into  non-' 
sense : — 

241  R 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

"Was  it  the  shuttle  of  the  morn 
That  wove  upon  the  cobwebb'd  thorn 
Thy  airy  lay  ?  " 

•'Hang  o'er  his  eye  the  gossamery  tear." 

'"  "  Gauzy  zephyrs,  fluttering  o'er  the  plain, 

v  On  twilight's  bosom  drop  their  filmy  rain." 

;!  etc.,  etc. 

r  It  was  impossible  that  such  absurdities  could  have 
had  any  lasting  efiPect  on  the  public  taste.  They  would 
have  died  of  inanition. 

His  satire  consists,  not  in  a  critical  exposure — in 
showing  why  the  objects  of  his  contempt  are  wrong — 
but  in  simply  asserting  that  they  are  so.  He  turns  a 
commonplace  of  his  own  in  his  verses,  quotes  a  passage 
from  his  author  in  a  note,  expresses  his  amazement  at 
it,  and  thus  thinks  he  has  proved  his  case,  when  he 
has  made  out  nothing  but  an  overweening  assumption 
at  the  expense  of  what  was  not  worth  noticing.  "  I 
was  born,"  says  he, — 

•'To  brand  obstrusive  ignorance  with  scorn, 
On  bloated  pedantry  to  pour  my  rage. 
And  hiss  preposterous  fustian  from  the  stage." 

What  commonplace  talking  is  that?  Here  is  some 
more  of  the  same  stuff : — 

"Then  let  your  style  be  brief,  your  meaning  clear, 
Nor,  like  Lorenzo,  tire  the  labouring  ear 
With  a  wild  waste  of  words ;  sound  without  sense, 
And  all  the  florid  glare  of  impotence. 
Still,  with  your  characters  your  language  change, — 
From  grave  to  gay,  as  nature  dictates,  range ; 
Now  droop  in  all  the  plaintiveness  of  woe, — (! !) 
Now  in  glad  numbers  light  and  airy  flow ; 
Now  shake  the  stage  with  guilt's  alarming  tone,  (!  I) 
And  make  the  aching  bosom  all  your  oxen." 

Was  there  ever  a  fonder  set  of  complacent  old 
phrases,  such  as  any  schoolboy  might  utter  ?  Yet  this 
is  the  man  who  undertook  to  despise  Charles  Lamb, 
and  to  trample  on  Keats  and  Shelley  ! 

I  have  mentioned  the  Roxburgh  sale  of  books.  I 
was  standing  among  the  bidders  with  my  friend  the 
late  Mr.  Barron  Field,  when  he  jogged  my  elbow,  and 

242 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

said,  "  There  is  Gifford  over  the  way,  looking  at  you 
with  such  a  face  !  "  I  met  the  eyes  of  my  beholder,  and 
saw  a  little  man,  with  a  warped  frame  and  a  countenance  : 
between  the  querulous  and  the  angry,  gazing  at  me 
with  all  his  might.  It  was,  truly  enough,  the  satirist 
who  could  not  bear  to  be  satirized — the  denouncer  of 
incompetencies,  who  could  not  bear  to  be  told  of  his  , 
own.  He  had  now  learnt,  as  I  was  myself  to  learn,  ;; 
what  it  was  to  taste  of  his  own  bitter  medicaments ; 
and  he  never  profited  by  it,  for  his  Revieio  spared 
neither  age  nor  sex  as  long  as  he  lived.  What  he  did 
at  first  out  of  a  self-satisfied  incompetence,  he  did  at 
last  out  of  an  envious  and  angry  one ;  and  he  was,  all 
the  while,  the  humble  servant  of  power,  and  never 
expressed  one  word  of  regret  for  his  inhumanity. 
The  mixture  of  implacability  and  servility  is  the 
sole  reason,  as  I  have  said  before,  why  I  still  speak 
of  him  as  I  do.  If  he  secretly  felt  regret  for  it,  I 
am  sorry — especially  if  he  retained  any  love  for  his 
"  Anna,"  whom  I  take  to  have  been  not  only  the  good 
servant  and  friend  he  describes  her,  but  such  a  one  as 
he  could  wish  that  he  had  married.  Why  did  he  not 
marry  her,  and  remain  a  humbler  and  a  happier  man  ? 
or  how  was  it,  that  the  power  to  have  any  love  at  all 
could  not  teach  him  that  other  people  might  have 
feelings  as  well  as  himself,  especially  women  and  the 
sick? 

Such  were  the  causes  of  my  disfavour  with  the  Tory 
critics  in  England. 

To  those  in  Scotland  I  gave,  in  like  manner,  the  first 
cause  of  offence,  and  they  had  better  right  to  complain 
of  me  ;  though  they  ended,  as  far  as  regards  the  mode 
of  resentment,  in  being  still  more  in  the  wrong.  I  had 
taken  a  dislike  to  Walter  Scott,  on  account  of  a  solitary 
passage  in  his  edition  of  Dryden — nay,  on  account  of  a 
single  word.  The  word,  it  must  be  allowed,  was  an 
extraordinary  one,  and  such  as  he  must  have  regretted 
writing  ;  for  a  more  dastardly  or  deliberate  piece  of 
wickedness  than  allowing  a  ship  with  its  crew  to  go  to 
sea,  knowing  the  vessel  to  be  leaky,  believing  it  likely 
to  founder,  and  on  purpose  to  destroy  one  of  the  pas- 

243 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

songers,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  ;  yet,  because  this 
was  done  by  a  Tory  king,  the  relator  could  find  no 
severer  term  for  it  than  "  ungenerous."  Here  is  the 
passage : — 

"  His  political  principles  (the  Earl  of  Mulgrave's)  were  those  of  a 
staiiwch  Tory,  which  he  maintained  through  his  whole  life  ;  and  he 
was  zealous  for  the  royal  prerogative,  although  he  had  no  small 
reason  to  complain  of  Charles  the  Second,  who,  to  avenge  himself 
on  Mulgrave,  lor  a  supposed  attachment  to  the  Princess  Anne,  sent 
him  to  Tangiers,  at  the  head  of  some  troops,  in  a  leaky  vessel, 
ivhich  it  was  siijjpofted  miist  have  perished  in  the  voyage.  Though 
Mulgrave  was  apprised  of  the  danger,  he  scorned  to  shun  it ;  and 
the  Earl  of  Plymouth,  a  favourite  son  of  the  king,  generously 
insisted  upon  sharing  it  along  with  him.  This  u7igenerous  attempt 
to  destroy  him  in  the  very  act  of  performing  his  duty,  with  the 
refusal  of  a  regiment,  made  a  temporary  change  in  Mulgrave's 
conduct." — Xofes  071  Absaloiti  and  Achithophel  in  Dry  den's  Works, 
vol.  ix.  p.  304. 

This  passage  was  the  reason  why  the  future  great 
novelist  was  introduced  to  Apollo,  in  the  Feast  of  the 
Poets,  after  a  very  irreverent  fashion. 

I  believe  that  with  reference  to  high  standards  of 
poetry  and  criticism,  superior  to  mere  description,  how- 
ever lively,  to  the  demands  of  rhyme  for  its  own  sake, 
to  prosaical  groundworks  of  style,  metaphors  of  com- 
mon property,   conventionalities    in   general,  and   the 
prevalence  of  a  material  over  a  spiritual  treatment,  my 
estimate  of  Walter  Scott's  then  publications,  making 
allowance  for  the  manner  of  it,  will  still  be  found  not 
,  far  from  the  truth,  by  those  who  have  profited   by   a 
,)•  more  advanced  age  of  sesthetical  culture. 
I      There  is  as  much  difference,  for  instance,  poetically 
j[  speaking,  between  Coleridge's  brief  poem,   Christabel, 
I  and  all  the  narrative  poems  of  Walter  Scott,    or   as 
"t.  Wordsworth  called  them,  "  novels  in  verse,"  as  between 
f  a  precious  essence  and  a  coarse  imitation  of  it,  got  up 
&for  sale.      Indeed,  Coleridge,  not  unnaturally,  though 
f,  not  with  entire  reason  (for  the  story  and  characters  in 
I  Scott  were  the  real  charm),  lamented  that  an  endeavour, 
I'  unavowed,  had  been  made  to  catch  his  tone,  and  had 
i  succeeded  just  far  enough  to  recommend  to  unbounded 
popularity  what  had  nothing  in  common  with  it. 

But  though  Walter  Scott  was   no  novelist  at  that 

244 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

time  except  in  verse,  the  tone  of  personal  assumption 
towards  him  in  the  Feast  of  the  Poets  formed  a  just , 
ground  of  offence.     Not  that  I  had  not  as  much  right  I 
to  differ  with  any  man  on  any  subject,  as  he  had  to  * 
differ   with  others  ;    but    it    would   have  become  me, 
especially  at  that  time  of  life,  and  in  speaking  of  aj 
living  person,  to  express  the  difference  with  modesty. ; 
I  ought  to  have  taken  care  also  not  to  fall  into  one  of 
the  very  prejudices  I  was  reproving,  and  think  ill  or^; 
well  of  people  in  proportion  as  they  differed  or  agreed « 
with  me  in  politics.     Walter  Scott  saw  the  good  oi\ 
mankind  in  a  Tory  or  retrospective  point  of  view.     I' 
saw  it  from  a  Whig,  a  Radical,  or  prospective  one  ;| 
and  though  I  still  think  he  was  mistaken,  and  thought 
circumstances  have  shown  that  the  world  think  so  too,  j 
I  ought  to  have  discovered,  even  by  the  writings  which ; 
I  condemned,  that  he  was  a  man  of  a  kindly  nature  ;  li 
and  it  would  have  become  me  to  have  given  him  credit  I 
for  the  same  good  motives,  which    I    arrogated    ex-[ 
clusively  for  my  own  side  of  the  question.     It  is  true,  [ 
it  might  be  supposed,  that  I  should  have   advocated; 
that  side  with  less  ardour,  had  I  been  more  temperate' 
in  this  kind  of  judgment ;  but  I  do  not  think  so.     Or| 
if  I  had,  the  want  of  ardour  would  probably  have  beenj 
compensated  by  the  presence  of  qualities,  the  absence.? 
of  which   was   injurious   to  its   good   effect.      At    alll 
events,  I  am  now  of  opinion,  that  whatever  may  be; 
the  immediate  impression,  a  cause  is  advocated  to  thei 
most  permanent  advantage  by  persuasive,  instead  o^ 
provoking  manners  ;  and  certain  I  am,  that  whether, 
this  be  the  case  or  not,  no  human  being,  be  he  the  besti 
and  wisest  of  his  kind,  much  less  a  confident  youn^i 
man,  can  be  so  sure  of  the  result  of  his  confidence,  as; 
to  warrant  the  substitution  of  his  will  and  pleasure  ini 
that  direction,  for  the  charity  which  befits  his  common, 
modesty  and  his  participation  of  error. 

It  is  impossible  for  me,  in  other  respects,  to  regretj 
the  war  I  had  with  the  Tories.  I  rejoice  in  it  as  far 
as  I  can  rejoice  at  anything  painful  to  myself  and 
others,  and  I  am  paid  for  the  consequences  in  what  I 
have  lived  to  see  ;  nay,  in  the  respect  and  regrets  of 

245 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

the  best  of  my  enemies.  But  I  am  sorry  that  in  aim- 
ing wounds  which  I  had  no  right  to  give,  I  cannot  deny 
that  I  brought  on  myself  others  which  they  had  still 
less  right  to  inflict ;  and  I  make  the  amends  of  this 
confession,  not  only  in  return  for  what  they  have 
expressed  themselves,  but  in  justice  to  the  feelings 
which  honest  men  of  all  parties  experience  as  they 
advance  in  life,  and  when  they  look  back  calmly  upon 
their  common  errors. 

"  I  shall  put  this  book  in  my  pocket,"  said  Walter 
Scott  to  Murray,  after  he  had  been  standing  a  while  at 
his  counter,  reading  the  Storij  of  Rimini.^ 

"  Pray  do,"  said  the  publisher.  The  copy  of  the  book 
was  set  down  to  the  author  in  the  bookseller's  account 
as  a  present  to  Walter  Scott.  Walter  Scott  was 
beloved  by  his  friends;  the  author  of  the  StovT/  of 
Rimini  was  an  old  offender,  personal  as  well  as 
political ;  and  hence  the  fury  with  which  they  fell  on 
him  in  their  new  publication. 

^  Every  party  has  a  right  side  and   a   wrong.      The 

right  side  of  Whiggism,  Radicalism,    or    the    love   of 

liberty,  is  the  love  of  justice — the  wish  to  see  fair  play 

to  all  men,  and  the  advancement  of  knowledge  and 

competence.     The  wrong  side  is  the  wish  to  pull  down 

those  above  us,  instead  of  the  desire  of  raising  those 

who  are  below.     The  right  side  of  Toryism  is  the  love 

of  order  and  the  disposition  to  reverence  and  personal 

attachment ;  the  wrong  side  is  the  love  of  power  for 

power's  sake,  and  the  determination  to  maintain  it  in 

the  teeth  of  all  that  is  reasonable   and  humane.     A 

strong  spice  of  superstition,  generated  by  the  habit  of 

.;  success,  tended  to  confuse  the  right  and  wrong  sides 

I  of   Toryism,    in   minds   not   otherwise   unjust   or   un- 

I  generous.     They  seemed  to  imagine  that  heaven  and 

;  earth  would  *'  come  together,"  if  the  supposed  favourites 

Sof  Providence  were  to  be  considered  as  favourites  no 

>  longer ;  and  hence  the  unbounded  licence  which  they 

>  gave  to  their   resentment,   and   the  strange   self-per- 

[^  The  Story  of  Rimini  was  published  by  John  Murray  in  1816,  and 
was  dedicated  to  Lord  Byron.  The  subject  is  Dante's  story  of 
Paolo  and  Francesca. — Inferno,  Canto  v.  101. J 

246 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

mission  of  a  man  like  Walter  Scott,  not  only  to  lament  i 
over  the  progress  of  society,  as  if  the  future  had  been  j 
ordained  only  to  carry  on  the  past,  but  to  countenance  t 
the  Border-like  forays  of  his  friends  into  provinces .] 
which  they  had  no  business  to  invade,  and  to  speculate  j 
upon  still  greater  organizations  of  them,  which  cir-  f. 
cumstances,  luckily  for  his  fame,  prevented.  I  allude  ;{ 
to  the  intended  establishment  of  a  journal,  which,  as  it 
never  existed,  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to  name. 

Readers  in  these  kindlier  days  of  criticism  have  no 
conception  of  the  extent  to  which  personal  hostility 
allowed  itself  to  be  transported,  in  the  periodicals  of 
those  times.     Personal  habits,  appearances,  connections, 
domesticities,  nothing  was   safe   from   misrepresenta- 
tions, begun,  perhaps,  in  the  gaiety  of  a  saturnalian 
licence,  but  gradually  carried  to  an  excess  which  would 
have  been  ludicrous,  had   it  not  sometimes  produced 
tragical  consequences.      It   threatened  a  great  many 
more,     and    scattered,    meantime,    a    great    deal    of 
wretchedness  among  unoffending  as  well  as  offending 
persons,  sometimes  in  proportion  to  the  delicacy  which 
hindered    them    from     exculpating    themselves,    and 
which  could  only   have  vindicated   one   portion  of   a^ 
family  by  sacrificing  another.     I  was  so  caricatured,  it? 
seems,  among  the  rest,  upon  matters  great  and  small! 
(for  I  did  not  see  a  tenth  part  of  what  was  said  of  me),  | 
that   persons,    on   subsequently   becoming   acquainted  \ 
with  me,  sometimes  expressed  their  surprise  at  finding  | 
me  no  other  than  I  was  in  face,  dress,  manners,  and  | 
very  walk  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  conjugality  which  | 
they  found  at  my  fireside,  and  the  affection  which  I  | 
had  the  happiness  of   enjoying  among  my  friends  in 
general.     I  never  retaliated  in  the  same  way  ;    first,  | 
because  I  had  never  been  taught  to  respect  it,  even  by  | 
the  jests  of  Aristophanes ;  secondly,  because  I  observed  | 
the  sorrow  which  it  caused  both  to  right  and  wrong ;  | 
thirdly,  because  it  is  impossible  to  know  the  truth  of  | 
any  story  related  of  a  person,  without  hearing  all  the  | 
parties  concerned  ;  and  fourthly,  because,  while  people  | 
thought  me  busy  with  politics  and  contention,  I  was  | 
almost  always  absorbed  in  my  books  and  verses,  and  | 

247 


% 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

-did    not,    perhaps,    sufficiently    consider    the    worldly 
I  consequences  of  the  indulgence. 

!To  return  to  the  Feast  of  the  Poets.  I  offended  all 
tlie  critics  of  the  old  or  French  school  by  objecting  to 
.  the  monotony  of  Pope's  versification,  and  all  the  critics 

■  of  the  new  or  German  school,  by  laughing  at  Words- 
worth, with  whose  writings  I  was  then  unacquainted, 
except  through  the  medium  of  his  deriders.  On  read- 
ing him  for  myself,  I  became  such  an  admirer,  that 
Lord  Byron  accused  me  of  making  him  popular  upon 
town.  I  had  not  very  well  pleased  Lord  Byron  him- 
self, by  counting  him  inferior  to  Wordsworth.  Indeed, 
I  offended  almost  everybody  whom  I  noticed  ;  some  by 
finding  any  fault  at  all  with  them  ;  some,  by  not 
praising  them  on  their  favourite  points ;  some,  by 
praising  others  on  any  point ;  and  some,  I  am  afraid, 
and  those  amongst  the  most  good-natured,  by  need- 
lessly bringing  them  on  the  carpet,  and  turning  their 
very  good-nature  into  a  subject  of  caricature.  Thus  I 
introduced  Mr.  Hayley,  whom  I  need  not  have  noticed 
at  all,  as  he  belonged  to  a  bygone  generation.  He  had 
been  brought  up  in  the  courtesies  of  the  old  school  of 
manners,  ^vhich  he  ultra-polished  and  rendered  caress- 
ing, after  the  fashion  of  my  Arcadian  friends  of  Italy  ; 
and  as  the  poetry  of  The  T^^iumphs  of  Temper  was  not 
as  \'igorous  in  style  as  it  was  amiable  in  its  moral  and 
elegant  in  point  of  fancy,  I  chose  to  sink  his  fancy  and 

^his  amiableness,  and  to  represent  him  as  nothing  but 
an  effeminate  parader  of  phrases  of  endearment  and 

^Ipickthank  adulation.  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of 
powder-puff  of  a  man,  with  no  real  manhood  in  him, 
but   fit  only  to  suffocate  people    with    his    frivolous 

Ivanity,  and  be  struck  aside  with  contempt.     I  had  not 

fyet  learned,  that  writers  may  be  very  "  strong "  and 
huffing  on  paper,  while  feeble  on  other  points,  and, 
vice  versa,  weak  in  their  metres,  while  they  are  strong 
enough  as  regards  muscle.  I  remember  my  astonish- 
ment, years  afterwards,  on  finding  that  the  "gentle 
Mr.  Hayley,"  whom  I  had  taken  for 

"  A  puny  insect,  shivering  at  a  breeze," 
248 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

was  a  strong-built  man,  famous  for  walking  in  the:;] 
snow  before  daylight,  and  possessed  of  an  intrepidity! 
SiS  a  horseman  amounting  to  the  reckless.  It  is  not! 
improbable  that  the  feeble  Hayley,  during  one  of  hisl 
equestrian  passes,  could  have  snatched  up  the  "vigorous"! 
Gilford,  and  pitched  him  over  the  hedge  into  the  nextl 
field.  I 

Having  thus  secured  the  enmity  of  the  Tory  critics| 
north  and  south,  and  the  indifference  (to  say  the  leasts 
of  it)  of  the  gentlest  lookers  on,  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  i 
better  part  of  my  impulses  to  lose  me  the  only  counter- 1 
acting  influence  which  was  offered  me  in  the  friendship^! 
of  the  Whigs.  I  had  partaken  deeply  of  Whig  indig-| 
nation  at  the  desertion  of  their  party  by  the  Prince| 
Regent.  The  Reflecto7'  contained  an  article  on  hisi'i' 
Royal  Highness,  bitter  accordingly,  which  bantered,! 
among  other  absurdities,  a  famous  dinner  given  by'^ 
him  to  "  one  hundred  and  fifty  particular  friends."| 
There  was  a  real  stream  of  water  running  down  the* 
table  at  this  dinner,  stocked  with  golden  fish.  It  had^p 
banks  of  moss  and  bridges  of  pasteboard ;  the  salt-iV^ 
cellars  were  panniers  borne  by  "  golden  asses  ;  "  every-ji! 
thing,  in  short,  was  as  unlike  the  dinners  now  given  byyl 
the  sovereign,  in  point  of  taste  and  good  sense,  asf^i 
effeminacy  is  different  from  womanhood ;  and  therli 
Reflector,  in  a  parody  of  the  complaint  of  the  shepherd,! 
described  how  '^ 

"  Despairing,  beside  a  clear  sti'eara, 

The  bust  of  a  cod-fish  was  laid ; 

And  while  a  false  taste  was  his  theme,  ^| 

A  drainer  supported  his  head."  | 

'1 
A  day  or  two  after  the  appearance  of  this  article,| 

I  met  in  the  street  the  late  estimable  Blanco  White, ^';i 

whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of   being  acquainted  with.| 

He  told  me  of  the  amusement  it  had  given  at  Holland^ 

House  ;  and  added,  that  Lord  Holland  would  be  glad|i 

% 
['  Joseph   Blanco    White    (1775-1841).      The    author    of   several 
Unitarian  works  and  of  some  books  against  Roman  Catholicism. 
His  autobiography,  with  extracts  from  his  correspondence,  appeared 
in  1845.) 

249 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

to  see  1110  among  his  friends  there,  and  that  he  (Blanco 
White)  was  commissioned  to  say  so. 

I  did  not  doubt  for  an  instant  that  anything  but  the 
most  disinterested  kindness  and  good-nature  dictated 
the  invitation  which  was  thus  made  to  me.  It  was 
impossible,  at  any  subsequent  time,  that  I  could  speak 
with  greater  respect  and  admiration  of  his  lordship, 
than  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  already.  Never 
had  an  unconstitutional  or  illiberal  measure  taken 
place  in  the  House  of  Lords,  but  his  protest  was  sure 
to  appear  against  it ;  and  this,  and  his  elegant  litera- 
ture and  reputation  for  hospitality,  had  completely 
won  my  heart.  At  the  same  time,  I  did  not  look  upon 
the  invitation  as  any  return  for  this  enthusiasm.  I 
considered  his  lordship  (and  now  at  this  moment  con- 
sider him)  as  having  been  as  free  from  every  personal 
motive  as  myself ;  and  this  absence  of  all  suspicion, 
prospective  or  retrospective,  enabled  me  to  feel  the 
more  confident  and  consoled  in  the  answer  which  I  felt 
bound  to  make  to  his  courtesy. 

I  said  to  Mr.  Blanco  White,  that  I  could  not  suffi- 
ciently express  my  sense  of  the  honour  that  his  lord- 
ship was  pleased  to  do  me  ;  and  there  was  not  a  man 
in  England  at  whose  table  I  should  be  prouder  or 
happier  to  sit ;  and  I  was  fortunate  in  having  a  con- 
veyer of  the  invitation,  who  would  know  how  to  believe 
what  I  said,  and  to  make  a  true  representation  of  it ; 
and  that  with  almost  any  other  person,  I  should  fear 
to  be  thought  guilty  of  immodesty  and  presumption, 
in  not  hastening  to  avail  myself  of  so  great  a  kindness  ; 
but  that  the  more  I  admired  and  loved  the  character 
of  Lord  Holland,  the  less  I  dared  to  become  personally 
acquainted  with  him  ;  that  being  a  far  weaker  person 
than  he  gave  me  credit  for  being,  it  would  be  difficult 
for  me  to  eat  the  mutton  and  drink  the  claret  of  such 
a  man,  without  falling  into  any  opinion  into  which  his 
conscience  might  induce  him  to  lead  me ;  and  that  not 
having  a  single  personal  acquaintance,  even  among 
what  was  called  my  own  party  (the  Radicals),  his  lord- 
ship's goodness  would  be  the  more  easily  enabled  to  put 
its  kindest  and  most  indulgent   construction   on   the 

250 


LITERARY  WARFARE 

misfortune  which  I  was  obliged  to  undergo,  in  denying  ^ 
myself  the  delight  of  his  society.  | 

I  do  not  say  that  these  were  the  very  words,  but! 
they  convey  the  spirit  of  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Blanco  | 
White  ;  and  I  should  not  have  doubted  his  giving  them  1 
a  correct  report,  even  had  no  evidence  of  it  followed.  '| 
But  there  did ;  for  Lord  Holland  courteously  sent  me  | 
his  publications,  and  never  ceased,  while  he  lived,  to  f 
show  me  all  the  kindness  in  his  power.  4 

Of  high  life  in  ordinary,  it  is  little  for  me  to  say  that  1 
I  might  have  had  a  surfeit  of  it,  if  I  pleased.  Circum- 1 
stances,  had  I  given  way  to  them,  might  have  rendered  | 
half  my  existence  a  round  of  it.  I  might  also  havel 
partaken  no  mean  portion  of  high  life  extraordinary.! 
And  very  charming  is  its  mixture  of  softness  and? 
strength,  of  the  manliness  of  its  taste  and  the  urbanity!! 
of  its  intercourse.  I  have  tasted,  if  not  much  of  it,| 
yet  some  of  its  very  essence,  and  I  cherish,  and  am| 
grateful  for  it  at  this  moment.  What  I  have  said,  | 
therefore,  of  Holland  House,  is  mentioned  under  no  | 
feelings,  either  of  assumption  or  servility.  The  invita-  j 
tion  was  made,  and  declined,  with  an  equal  spirit  of  | 
faith  on  both  sides  in  better  impulses.  | 

Far,  therefore,  am  I  from  supposing,  that  the  silence  | 
of  the  Whig  critics  respecting  me  was  owing  to  any  | 
hostile  influence  which  Lord  Holland  would  have  con-  | 
descended  to  exercise.     Not  being  among  the  visitors  y 
at  Holland  House,  I  dare  say  I  was  not  thought  of ;  or  :'] 
if  I  was  thought  of,  I  was  regarded  as  a  person  who,  ? 
in  shunning  Whig  connection,  and,  perhaps,  in  persist- 
ing to  advocate  a  reform   towards  which  they  were 
cooling,     might    be     supposed     indifferent    to    Whig 
advocacy.     And,  indeed,  such  was  the  case,  till  I  felt 
the  want  of  it.  \^,, 

Accordingly,  the  Edinburgh  RevUiv  took  no  notice  of  'i 
the  Feast  of  the  Poets,  though  my  verses  praised  it  at  ); 
the  expense  of  the  Quarterly,  and  though  some  of  the  | 
reviewers,  to  my  knowledge,  liked  it,  and  it  echoed  the  | 
opinions  of  others.  It  took  no  notice  of  the  pamphlet  |- 
on  the  Folly  and  Danger  of  Methodism,^  though  the 
[^  An  Attempt  to  show  the  Folly  and  Danger  of  Methodism,  in  a 

251 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   LEIGH   HUNT 

opinions  in  it  were,   perhaps,   identical  with  its  own. 
I  And  it  took  as  little  of  the  ReforinisVs  Ansicer  to  an 
^  Article  in  the  Edinburgh  Revieiv^ — a  pamphlet  which  I 
I  wrote  in  defence  of  its  own  reforming  principles,  which 
I    it  had  lately  taken  it  into   its   head  to   renounce   as 
X    impracticable.     Reform  had  been  apparently  given  up 
I    for  ever  by  its  originators  ;  the  Tories  were  increasing 
^,   in  strength  every  day ;  and  I  was  left  to  battle  with 
*  them  as  I  could.      Little  did  I  suppose,  that  a  time 
I  would  come  when  I  should  be  an  Edinburgh  Reviewer 
'i  myself ;    when    its    former    editor,    agreeably   to  the 
,  dictates  of  his  heart,  would  be  one  of  the  kindest  of  my 
~  friends  ;  and  when  a  cadet  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
(  Whig  houses,  too  young  at  that  time  to  possess  more 
•  than  a  prospective  influence,  would  carry  the  reform 
^;  from  which  his  elders  recoiled,  and  gift   the   prince- 
opposing   Whig-Radical   with    a    pension,    under    the 
gracious   countenance   of  a  queen  whom  the  Radical 
'   loves.      I    think    the   Edinburgh    Review   might   have 
.   noticed  my  books  a  little  of  tener.     I  am  sure  it  would 
\^:  have  done  me  a  great  deal  of  worldly  good  by  it,  and 
;    itself  no  harm  in  these  progressing  days  of  criticism. 
;  But  I  said  nothing  on  the  subject,  and  may  have  been 
■:  thought  indifferent. 

":       Of  Mr.  Blanco  White,  thus  brought  to  my  recoUec- 

!  tion,    a   good   deal   is   known  in  certain  political  and 

i  religious  quarters  ;  but  it  may  be  new  to  many  readers, 

>   that  he  was  an  Anglo-Spaniard,  who   was  forced  to 

!  quit  the  Peninsula  for  his  liberal  opinions,  and  who 

'  died  in  his  adopted  country  not  long  ago,  after  many 

years'  endeavour  to  come  to  some  positive  faith  within 

the  Christian  pale.     At  the  time  I  knew  him  he  had 

not  long   arrived   from  Spain,  and   was   engaged,  or 

about  to  be  engaged,  as    tutor   to  the   present   Lord 

Holland.     Though  English  by  name  and  origin,  he  was 

more  of  the  Spaniard  in  appearance,  being  very  unlike 

series  of  Essays,  First  Published  in  the  Weekly  Paper  called  the 
" Examiner,"  arid  noio  enlarged\tcith^a  Preface  and  Editorial  Notes 
by  the  Editor  of  the  ^'Examiner,"  1809.] 

{^Reformist's  Reply  to  an  Article  in  the  *' Edinburgh  Review," 
1810.] 

252 


LITERARY   WARFARE 

the  portrait  prefixed  to  his  Life  and  Correspondence. 
At  least,  he  must  have  greatly  altered  from  what  he| 
was  when  I  knew  him,  if  that  portrait  ever  resembled| 
him.  He  had  a  long  pale  face,  with  prominent  droop- 1 
ing  nose,  anxious  and  somewhat  staring  eyes,  and  a.'^ 
mouth  turning  down  at  the  corners.  I  believe  there  | 
was  not  an  honester  man  in  the  world,  or  one  of  an  I 
acuter  intellect,  short  of  the  mischief  that  had  been  i 
done  it  by  a  melancholy  temperament  and  a  supersti-  I 
tious  training.  It  is  distressing,  in  the  work  alluded  | 
to,  to  see  what  a  torment  the  intellect  may  be  rendered  | 
to  itself  by  its  own  sharpness,  in  its  efforts  to  make  its  | 
way  to  conclusions,  equally  unnecessary  to  discover  | 
and  impossible  to  bo  arrived  at.  .| 

But,  perhaps,  there  was  something  naturally  self-  | 
tormenting  in  the  state  of  Mr.  White's  blood.  Thel 
first  time  I  met  him  at  a  friend's  house,  he  was  suffer- 1 
ing  under  the  calumnies  of  his  countrymen ;  and  though  | 
of  extremely  gentle  manners  in  ordinary,  he  almost! 
startled  me  by  suddenly  turning  round,  and  saying,  in  | 
one  of  those  incorrect  foreign  sentences  which  force  | 
one  to  be  relieved  while  they  startle,  "  If  they  proceed  | 
more,  I  will  go  mad."  | 

In  like  manner,  while  he  was  giving  me  the  Holland- 1 
House  invitation,  and  telling  me  of  the  amusement  | 
derived  from  the  pathetic  cod's  head  and  shoulders,  he  | 
looked  so  like  the  piscatory  bust  which  he  was  describ-  I 
ing,  that  with  all  my  respect  for  his  patriotism  and  his  I 
sorrows,  I  could  not  help  partaking  of  the  unlucky  5 
tendency  of  my  countrymen  to  be  amused,  in  spite  I 
of  myself,  with  the  involuntary  burlesque.  | 

Mr.  White,  on  his  arrival  in  England,  was  so  anxious  f 
a  student  of  the  language,  that  he  noted  down  in  al 
pocket-book  every  phrase  which  struck  him  as  remark-! 
able.  Observing  the  words  "  Cannon  Brewery "  on  I 
premises  then  standing  in  Knightsbridge,  and  taking  the  i 
figure  of  a  cannon  which  was  over  them,  as  the  sign  of  | 
the  commodity  dealt  in,  he  put  down  as  a  nicety  of  | 
speech,  "  The  English  breiv  cannon."  | 

Another  time,  seeing  maid-servants  walking  with  | 
children    in    a    nursery-garden,    he    rejoiced    in    the 

253 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

^  progeny-loving  character  of  the  people  among  whom 

!  he  had  come,  and  wrote  down,  "Public  garden  provided 

i  for  nurses,  in  which  they  take  the  children  to  walk." 

I      This  gentleman,  who  had  been  called  "  Blanco  "  in 

/  Spain — which  was  a  translation  of  his   family   name 

;  "  White,"   and    who    afterwards    wrote    an    excellent 

)   English  book  of  entertaining  letters  on  the  Peninsula, 

I   under  the  Grseco-Spanish  appellation  of  Don  Leucadio 

f    Doblado  (White   Doubled) — was   author   of   a   sonnet 

I    which   Coleridge   pronounced   to  be   the    best   in   the 

English  language.     I  know  not  what  Mr.  Wordsworth 

said  on  this  judgment.     Perhaps  he  wrote  fifty  sonnets 

on  the  spot  to  disprove  it.     And  in  truth  it  was  a  bold 

sentence,  and  probably  spoken  out  of  a  kindly,  though 

not   conscious,    spirit   of   exaggeration.      The   sonnet, 

nevertheless,  is  truly  beautiful.^ 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  REGENT  AND  THE  "EXAMINER" 

[1812] 

EVERYTHING  having  been  thus  prepared,  by  my- 
self as  well  as  by  others,  for  a  good  blow  at  the 
Examiner,  the  ministers  did  not  fail  to  strike  it. 

There  was  an  annual  dinner  of  the  Irish  on  St. 
Patrick's  Day,  at  which  the  Prince  of  Wales's  name 
used  to  be  the  reigning  and  rapturous  toast,  as  that  of 
the  greatest  friend  they  possessed  in  the  United  King- 
dom. He  was  held  to  be  the  jovial  advocate  of  liber- 
ality in  all  things,  and  sponsor  in  particular  for  con- 
cession to  the  Catholic  claims.  But  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  now  become  Prince  Regent,  had  retained  the 
Tory  ministers  of  his  father  ;  he  had  broken  life-long 
engagements ;  had  violated  his  promises,  particular  as 

*  It  is  the  one  beginning— 

"  ]\Iysterious  night  I  when  oiir  first  parent  knew." 
254 


THE  REGENT   AND  THE  "EXAMINER" 

well  as  general,  those  to  the  Catholics  among  thems; 
and  led  in  ioto  a  different  political  life  from  what  had 
been  expected.  The  name,  therefore,  which  used  to  be 
hailed  with  rapture,  was  now,  at  the  dinner  in  ques4 
tion,  received  with  hisses.  \ 

An  article  appeared  on  the  subject  in  the  Examiner ;^ 
the  attorney-general's  eye  was  swiftly  upon  the  article ; 
and  the  result  to  the  proprietors  was  two  years'  im- 
prisonment, with  a  fine,  to  each,  of  five  hundred  pounds.^ 
I  shall  relate  the  story  of  my  imprisonment  a  few 
pages  onward.  Much  as  it  injured  me,  I  cannot  wish 
that  I  had  evaded  it,  for  I  believe  that  it  did  good,  and 
I  should  have  suffered  far  worse  in  the  self -abasement.?; 
Neither  have  I  any  quarrel,  at  this  distance  of  time,' 
with  the  Prince  Regent ;  for  though  his  frivolity,  his 
tergiversation,  and  his  treatment  of  his  wife,  will  not 
allow  me  to  respect  his  memory,  I  am  bound  to  pardon 
it  as  I  do  my  own  faults,  in  consideration  of  the  cir-| 
cumstances  which  mould  the  character  of  every  human 
being.  Could  I  meet  him  in  some  odd  corner  of  the 
Elysian  fields,  where  charity  had  room  for  both  of  us, 
I  should  first  apologise  to  him  for  having  been  the 
instrument  in  the  hand  of  events  for  attacking  a  f el- ; 
low-creature,  and  then  expect  to  hear  him  avow  as 
hearty  a  regret  for  having  injured  myself,  and  unjustly 
treated  his  wife. 

[The  author  repeated  the  article  in  the  first  edition 
of  his  Autobiography  ;  but  in  revising  the  present  edi-  : 
tion  he  marked  the  whole  of  it  for  omission.  The 
greater  portion,  indeed,  is  completely  out  of  date,  as  so 
often  happens  with  political  writing ;  the  facts,  the  al- 
lusions, the  very  turn  of  the  phrases,  belong  to  circum- 
stances long  since  forgotten ;  and  the  effect  of  the 
composition,  even  as  a  work  of  art,  could  not  now  be 
appreciated.  But  since  so  much  has  turned  upon  the 
purport  of  this  paper,  and  especially  upon  one  passage, 
it  may  be  as  well  to  preserve  that  portion.     The  occur- 

[»  March  12, 1812.] 

[*  The  trial  took  place  in  December,  1812,  Lord  Brougham  again 
defending  them.  They  were  sentenced  by  Lord  Ellen  borough,  John 
Hunt  to  Clerkenwell  and  Leigh  Himt  to  Horsemonger  Lane  Gaol.] 

255 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

rence  which  prompted  the  article  was  a  public  dinner 
on  St.  Patrick's  Day,  at  which  the  Chairman,  Lord 
Moira,  a  generous  man,  made  not  the  slightest  allusion 
to  the  Prince  Regent,  and  Mr.  Sheridan,  who  manfully- 
stood  up  for  his  royal  friend,   declaring  that  he  still 

;  sustained  the  principles  of  the  Prince  Regent,  was 
saluted  by  angry  shouts  and  cries  of  "  Change  the  sub- 
ject ! "  The  Whig  Morning  Chronicle  moralized  this 
theme ;  and  the  Morning  Post,  which  then  affected  to 
be  the  organ  of  the  Court,  in  a  strain  of  unqualified 
admiration,  replied  to  the  Chronicle,  partly  in  vapid 
prose   objurgation,  and   partly  in   a   wretched  poem, 

';.  graced  with  epithets  intended  to  be  extravagantly  flat- 
tering to  the  Prince.  To  this  reply  the  Examiner  re- 
joined in  a  paper  of  considerable  length,  analyzing  the 
whole  facts,  and  translating  the  language  of  adulation 
into  that  of  truth.  The  close  of  the  article  shows  its 
spirit  and  purpose,  and  is  a  fair  specimen  of  Leigh 
Hunt's  political  writing  at  that  time. — T.H.] 

"What  person,  unacquainted  with  the  true  state  of  the  case, 
would  imagine,   in  reading   these  astounding  eulogies,  that  this 
'  Glory  of  the  people '  was  the  subject  of  millions  of  shrugs  and  re- 
proaches ! — that  this  '  Protector  of  the  arts '  had  named  a  wretched 
foreigner  his  historical  painter,  in  disparagement  or  in  ignorance  of 
the  merits  of  his  own  countrymen ! — that  this   '  Mecaenas  of  the 
age  '  patronized  not  a  single  deserving  writer  ! — that  this  '  Breather 
of  eloquence '  could  not  say  a  few  decent  extempore  words,  if  we 
are  to  judge,  at  least,  from  what  he  said  to  his  regiment  on  its  em- 
barkation for  Portugal !  — that  this  •  Conqueror  of  hearts '  was  the 
disappointer  of  hopes  ! — that  this  '  Exciter  of  desire '  [bravo  !  Mes- 
sieurs of  the  Post!] — this  'Adonis  in  loveliness'  was  a  corpulent 
man  of  fifty  ! — in  short,  this  delightful,  blissful,  wise,  pleasurable, 
^  honourable,  viH^ious,  true,  and  immortal  prince,  was  a  violator  of 
I  his  word,  a  libertine  over  head  and  ears  in  disgrace,  a  despiser  of 
i  domestic  ties,  the  companion  of  gamblers  and  demireps,  a  man  who 
V  has  just  closed  half  a  century  without  one  single  claim  on  the 
'  gratitude  of  his  country,  or  the  respect  of  posterity ! 

"  These  are  hard  truths  ;  but  are  they  not  truths  ?  And  have  we 
not  suffered  enough — are  we  not  now  suffering  bitterly — from  the 
^disgusting  flatteries  of  which  the  above  is  a  repetition  ?  The  minis- 
?:  ters  may  talk  of  the  shocking  boldness  of  the  press,  and  may  throw 
t  out  their  wretched  warnings  about  interviews  between  Mr.  Percival 
^and  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs ;  but  let  us  inform  them,  that  such  vices  as 
•have  just  been  enumerated  are  shocking  to  all  Englishmen  who 
have  a  just  sense  of  the  state  of  Europe ;  and  that  he  is  a  bolder 
;man,  who,  in  times  like  the  present,  dares  to  afford  reason  for  the 
>:description.  Would  to  God,  the  Examiner  could  ascertain  that 
*diflQcvdt,  and  perhaps  undiscoverable,  point  which  enables  a  public 

256 


THE   REGENT   AND   THE    "EXAMINER" 

writer  to  keep  clear  of  an  appearance  of  the  love  of  scandal,  while 
he  is  hunting  out  the  vices  of  those  in  power  I  Then  should  one 
paper,  at  least,  in  this  metropolis  help  to  rescue  the  nation  from 
the  charge  of  silently  encouraging  what  it  must  publicly  rue  ;  and 
the  Sardanapalus  who  is  now  afraid  of  none  but  informers,  be 
taught  to  shake,  in  the  midst  of  his  minions,  in  the  very  drunken- 
ness of  his  heart,  at  the  voice  of  honesty.  But  if  this  be  impossible, 
still  there  is  one  benefit  which  truth  may  derive  from  adulation — 
one  benefit  which  is  favourable  to  the  former  in  proportion  to  the 
grossness  of  the  latter,  and  of  which  none  of  his  flatterers  seem  to 
be  aware — the  opportunity  of  contradicting  its  assertions.  Let  us 
never  forget  this  advantage,  which  adulation  cannot  help  giving 
us  ;  and  let  such  of  our  readers  as  are  inclined  to  deal  insincerely 
with  the  great  from  a  false  notion  of  policy  and  of  knowledge  of 
the  world,  take  warning  from  what  we  now  see  of  the  miserable 
effects  of  courtly  disguise,  paltering,  and  profligacy.  Flattery  in 
any  shape  is  unworthy  a  man  and  a  gentleman  ;  but  political  flat- 
tery is  almost  a  request  to  be  made  slaves.  If  we  would  have  the 
great  to  be  what  they  ought,  we  ipust  find  some  means  or  other  to 
speak  of  them  as  they  are." 

This  article,  no  doubt,  was  very  bitter  and  contemp- 
tuous ;  therefore,  in  the  legal  sense  of  the  term,  very- 
libellous  ;  the  more  so,  inasmuch  as  it  was  very  true. 
There  will  be  no  question  about  the  truth  of  it,  at  this 
distance  of  time,  with  any  class  of  persons,  unless, 
possibly,  with  some  few  of  the  old  Tories,  who  may 
think  it  was  a  patriotic  action  in  the  Prince  to  displace 
the  Whigs  for  their  opponents.  But  I  believe,  that 
under  all  the  circumstances,  there  are  few  persons  in- 
deed nowadays,  of  my  class,  who  will  not  be  of  opinion 
that,  bitter  as  the  article  was,  it  was  more  than  suffi- 
ciently avenged  by  two  years'  imprisonment  and  a  fine 
of  a  thousand  pounds.  For  it  did  but  express  what 
all  the  world  were  feeling,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Prince's  once  bitterest  enemies,  the  Tories  themselves, 
then  newly  become  his  friends  ;  and  its  very  sincerity 
and  rashness,  had  the  Prince  possessed  greatness  of 
mind  to  think  so,  might  have  furnished  him  such  a 
ground  for  pardoning  it,  as  would  have  been  the  best 
proof  he  could  have  given  us  of  our  having  mistaken 
him,  and  turned  us  into  blushing  and  grateful  friends. 
An  attempt  to  bribe  us  on  the  side  of  fear  did  but 
further  disgust  us.  A  free  and  noble  waiving  of  the 
punishment  would  have  bowed  our  hearts  into  regret. 
We  should  have  found  in  it  the  evidence  of  that  true 

257  s 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

generosity    of  nature   paramount   to   whatsoever  was 

frivolous  or  appeared  to  be  mean,  which  his  flatterers 

claimed  for  him,  and  which  would  have  made  us  doubly 

,rblush  for  the  formal  virtues  to  which  we  seemed  to  be 

•:attached,  when,  in  reality,  nothing  would  have  better 

>pleased  us  than  such  a  combination  of  the  gay  and  the 

^^magnanimous.     I  say  doubly  blush,  for  I  now  blush  at 

^ever  having  been  considered,   or  rather    been  willing 

|to  be  considered,  an  advocate  of  any  sort  of  conven- 

I  tionality,  unqualified  by  liberal  exceptions  and  prospec- 

I  tive  enlargement  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  my  brother,  had 

I  he  been  living,  who  was  one  of  the  best-natured  and 

I  most  indulgent  of  men,  would  have  joined  with  me  in 

I  making  the  same  concession  ;  though  I  am  bound  to 

I  add  that,  ^v^th  all  his  indulgence  of  others,  I  have  no 

I  reason  to  believe  that  he   had  ever  stood  in  need  of 

I  that  pardon  for  even  conventional  licence,  from  the 

5^  necessity   of   which   I    cannot   pretend    to    have   been 

I  exempt. 

5  I  have  spoken  of  an  attempt  to  bribe  us.  We  were 
I  given  to  understand,  through  the  medium  of  a  third 
I  person,  but  in  a  manner  emphatically  serious  and  po- 
I  tential,  that  if  we  would  abstain  in  future  from  com- 
'4  menting  upon  the  actions  of  the  royal  personage, 
I  means  would  be  found  to  prevent  our  going  to  prison. 
I  The  same  offer  was  afterwards  repeated,  as  far  as  the 
?  paynient  of  a  fine  was  concerned,  upon  our  going 
i  thither.  I  need  not  add  that  we  declined  both. 
|:  The  expectation  of  a  prison  was,  m  one  respect,  very 
I  formidable  to  me  ;  for  I  had  been  a  long  time  in  a  bad 
t  state  of  health.  I  was  suffering  under  the  worst  of 
I  those  hypochondriacal  attacks  which  I  have  described 
I  in  a  former  chapter  ;  and  when  notice  was  given  that 
I  we  were  to  be  brought  up  for  judgment,  I  had  just 
i  been  advised  by  the  physician  to  take  exercise  every 
I  day  on  horseback,  and  go  down  to  the  sea-side.  I  was 
t  resolved,  however,  to  do  no  disgrace  either  to  the 
I  courage  which  I  really  possessed,  or  to  the  example  set 
I  me  by  my  excellent  brother.  I  accordingly  put  my 
I  countenance  in  its  best  trim ;  I  made  a  point  of  wear- 
'  ing  my  best  apparel ;    and    descended   into    the   legal 

2.58 


THE  REGENT  AND  THE  "EXAMINER" 

arena  to  be  sentenced  gallantly.  As  an  instance  of  the  f 
imagination  which  I  am  accustomed  to  mingle  with  I 
everything,  I  was  at  that  time  reading  a  little  work,! 
to  which  Milton  is  indebted,  the  Comus  of  Erycius'^ 
Puteanus  ;  ^  and  this,  which  is  a  satire  on  "  Bacchuses 
and  their  revellers,"  I  pleased  myself  with  having  in  ■ 
my  pocket.  | 

It  is  necessary,  on  passing  sentence  for  a  libel,  to  I 
read  over  again  the  words  that  composed  it.  This  was  { 
the  business  of  Lord  Ellenborough,  who  baffled  the  at-  \ 
tentive  audience  in  a  very  ingenious  manner  by  affect-  \ 
ing  every  instant  to  hear  a  noise,  and  calling  upon  the  i 
officers  of  the  court  to  prevent  it.  Mr.  Garrow,^  the  f 
attorney-general  (who  had  succeeded  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs  I 
at  a  very  cruel  moment,  for  the  indictment  had  been  t 
brought  by  that  irritable  person,  and  was  the  first  i 
against  us  which  took  effect),  behaved  to  us  with  a  | 
politeness  that  was  considered  extraordinary.  Not  so  /:| 
Mr.  Justice  Grose, ^  who  delivered  the  sentence.  To  be  ^j 
didactic  and  old-womanish  seemed  to  belong  to  his  ; 
nature  ;  but  to  lecture  us  on  pandering  to  the  public  ■' 
appetite  for  scandal  was  what  we  could  not  so  easily  j 
bear.  My  brother,  as  I  had  been  the  writer,  expected  j 
me,  perhaps  to  be  the  spokesman  ;  and  speak  I  cer-  | 
tainly  should  have  done,  had  I  not  been  prevented  by  | 
the  dread  of  that  hesitation  in  my  speech  to  which  I  ] 
had  been  subject  when  a  boy,  and  the  fear  of  which  ^ 
(perhaps  idly,  for  I  hesitated  at  that  time  least  among  ; 
strangers,  and  very  rarely  do  so  at  all)  has  been  the  i 
main  cause  why  I  have  appeared  and  acted  in  public  \ 
less  than  any  other  public  man.  There  is  reason  to  i 
think  that  Lord  Ellenborough  was  still  less  easy  than  | 
ourselves.  He  knew  that  we  were  acquainted  with  [ 
his  visits  to  Carlton-house  and  Brighton  (sympathies  c 
not  eminently  decent  in  a  judge),  and  with  the  good   - 

[^  Eryciiis  Puteanus— or  Henclrik  van  der  Putten— (1574-1646).  His 
Latin  extravaganza,  Comus,  sivePhagesiposia  Cinivueria,"  appeared 
in  1608;  it  was  afterwards  i-eprinted,  one  edition  being  issued  at 
Oxford  in  1634,  the  year  of  Milton's  Masque.] 

["  Sir  William  Garrow  (1760-1840).  He  was  made  Attorney-General 
on  May  4,  1813.] 

[3  Sir  Nash  Grose  (1740-1814).] 

259 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF  LEIGH   HUNT 

things  which  he  had  obtained  for  his  kinsmen  ;  and 
we  could  not  help  preferring  our  feelings  at  the  mo- 
ment to  those  which  induced  him  to  keep  his  eyes  fixed 
on  his  papers,  which  he  did  almost  the  whole  time  of 
our  being  in  court,  never  turning  them  once  to  the 
place  on  which  we  stood.  There  were  divers  other 
points  too,  on  which  he  had  some  reason  to  fear  that 
we  might  choose  to  return  the  lecture  of  the  bench. 
He  did  not  even  look  at  us  when  he  asked,  in  the  course 
of  his  duty,  whether  it  was  our  wish  to  make  any  re- 
marks ?  I  answered  that  we  did  not  ^ash  to  make  any 
there  ;  and  Mr.  Justice  Grose  proceeded  to  pass  sen- 
tence. At  the  sound  of  two  years'  imprisonment  in 
separate  gaols,  my  brother  and  myself  instinctively 
pressed  each  other's  arm.  It  was  a  heavy  blow ;  but 
the  pressure  that  acknowledged  it  encouraged  the  reso- 
lution to  bear  it ;  and  I  do  not  believe  that  either  of 
us  interchanged  a  word  afterwards  on  the  subject. 
We  knew  that  we  had  the  respect  of  each  other,  and 
that  ^ve  stood  together  in  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

Just  before  our  being  brought  up  for  judgment  the 

friendly  circumstance  took  place  on  the  part  of  Mr. 

■Perry,  of  the  Morning  Chronicle,  to  which  allusion  has 

;been  made  in  the  eleventh  chapter,  and  which  I  forgot 

:;'to  supply  in  the  first  edition  of  this  work.     It  was  an 

/offer  made  us  to  give  Whig  sanction,   and  therefore 

|;certain  and  immediate  influence,  to  the  announcement 

;* of  a  manuscript  for  publication,  connected  with  some 

.important  state  and  court  secrets,  and  well  known  and 

^dreaded  by  the  Regent,  under  the  appellation  of  The 

.Book.     I  forget  whether  Mr.  Perry  spoke  of  its  appear- 

iinee,  or  of  its  announcement  only ;  but  the  offer  was 

jnade  for  the  express  purpose  of  saving  us  from  going 

to  prison.     We  heartily  thanked    the  kind  man ;  but 

■  iknowing  that  what  it  is  very  proper  sometimes,  and 

iiandsome  for  persons  to  offer,  it  may  not  be  equally 

so  for  other  persons  to  accept,  and  not  liking  to  owe 

our  deliverance  to  a  threat  or  a  ruse  de  guerre,  we  were 

*'  romantic,"  and  declined  the  favour. 


Butler  &  Tanner,  The  Selwood  Printing  Works,  Frome,  and  London. 


